


Travellers in the Dark

by Whatsmyhaircolor



Series: Travellers in the Dark [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven, Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Fallout (Video Games), Resident Evil - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, M/M, Requited Love, Rescue, Resurrection, Sacrifice, Sexual Content, Survival Horror, Unrequited Love, Werewolf Hunters, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 95,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsmyhaircolor/pseuds/Whatsmyhaircolor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The planet has been plagued by a pestilence unlike anything the world has ever seen. The dead began to rise, and in no time at all the world found itself overrun by these walking abominations. Amongst the ruins of New Orleans and Louisiana, three groups of survivors pursue three very different paths through the apocalypse. However, unbeknownst to each of them, their fates are interwoven. One wishes the demise of the other two, one harbors a powerful young girl, and the other is struggling to save their kind from the darkness of extinction. Can any of them survive the undead, the hostile new world, or the consequences of when their paths cross?</p><p>-Currently being remastered, as of 9/8/2017 up to Chapter 10. Chapters following this may not seem to flow with the previous events. Everything will gradually come together as both works in this series are built on. Please continue to read during this time, the core story will not be altered-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life Now, An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of Teen Wolf have lived in New Orleans their entire lives. Scott has not been transformed into a werewolf, but he is romantically involved with Allison. The Walking Dead tie-in serves to eliminate the concept of "zombies" as we know it, leaving the world terrified and unable to properly identify their doom. Zoe never black widowed her boyfriend, and thus never had to go to the school in New Orleans. Misty Day was burned and revived herself as the world was falling apart, and Fiona is dead. No one knows she is dead or how she died, despite the witches manifesting additional powers.

     It was such a beautiful little thing, plucked from the world of the living too soon. Its eyes were open, pupils fixed on a distant point that did not exist, or perhaps one that did exist far too much in this new world. It was gazing from beyond the grave into a dark eternity. Yet if it were not for the eyes, it would seem as though it had fallen asleep in the grass. She wanted to believe it would wake up if she gave it a gentle nudge, but she knew it would take far more than that.

     “Misty, you alright?” Her solemn reflection was interrupted by his call. She had become so entranced in the corpse that her first reaction was not a reply, but a flinch. She was able to quickly regain her senses, and focus on who had called her. “What?” She scoffed at her clueless reply. “Oh, I'm fine. I just hate seeing such a waste of life.” She whispered that last line to herself. She knew it wouldn't be dangerous to try it anymore, but her heart always raced a bit faster at the thought.

     Stiles was shortly by her side, and he crouched beside her. She pointed at the fragile form in the grass, and he looked a bit confused. “I love these birds.” she began. “I have no idea what they're called, but they make the coolest little chirps. I remember hearing them all the time during the summer.”

     Misty was, unusual. In truth, Stiles often imagined her sitting in a circle, surrounded by people wearing tie-dye shirts and singing about the Earth. Perhaps that was a bit too harsh, since he certainly wasn't a big shot by any means and didn't think badly of her at all. Things were tough for her in the beginning. She used to be a vegetarian, but the lack of food forced her to eat meat whenever they could. Still, she never liked seeing the animals before they were cooked. She looked away, took a walk, did anything to take her mind off of it all.

     “Maybe it died naturally?” he suggested. “It looks peaceful enough.” “No,” she sighed, “It had a broken wing. You can't tell now, but when I found it the wing looked like a lightning bolt.” 

     He looked down at the little bird. Through it all, the world couldn't harden her. She wasn't weak by any means, and could hold her own in a fight, but she was still so sensitive, so caring for animals. He used sarcasm to keep himself grounded, but everything that had happened took a toll on him. He had a feeling there was a lot about her she wasn't telling them, but she seemed happy most of the time. Hopefully it would last. He liked her like this.

     “I have no idea what they're called either,” said Stiles, “But you're right about the chirping. It was like a little reminder that summer was there to free us from school.” Misty's expression of melancholy shifted to allow a glimmer of happiness through. “Now there's something I don't miss.” she chuckled. “Though I still haven't decided if this is worse than calc.”

     “Guys?” Scott called from their campsite. “What’s going on back there?” “Nothing really.” Stiles shouted back. “Just, uh, paying our respects.” There was no reply from Scott. Instead, he jogged over, concerned about what exactly they were paying respect to. When he saw the bird, he looked surprised, expecting something entirely different. The he noticed the look in Misty's eye, and he decided not to question it. “We need to get moving.” he said. “The Bourbon Street herd is on the move again.” “Fuck,” Stiles sighed, “Already?” “I'm going to give this guy a little burial,” Misty said as she rose to her feet, “You go on ahead to the camp, I won't be long.” “You sure?” She nodded, her eyes shifting to the bird. They didn't like the idea of leaving her alone, but the area was safe enough.

     She waited for them to be out of sight, and then let a few more seconds pass before she knelt back on the ground. She cupped the little bird in her hands, its body stiff but its feathers rustling in the breeze. She smiled. “Let's see what I can do for you.” She placed her left hand over the bird and closed her eyes. The veins in her hand pulsed, her head began to pound, and a soft breath escaped her lips.

     The bird suddenly flapped its wings, and it sat in her palm. She was amazed that the wing had been healed as well, with her most optimistic hopes being it simply began to breathe again. “Beautiful.” She raised her hand, and the bird flew away, chirping as though it had never been able to its entire life. Its melody was soothing and beautiful. Then there was something warm flowing from her nose, and she quickly wiped it away. It wasn't much blood, but she thought it might be enough to distract some of the walkers. She brushed it against some leaves, making sure her hand and face were clear of any red spots.

     “Misty?” The call hit her ears like a dagger, forcing her eyes shut as she gripped the sides of her head. “Coming,” she replied as she stifled her pain, “Just got the little guy in the ground.” She looked up at the bird dancing in the air before she left the scene.

     The walk back to their camp was a brief, and upon arrival she realized that most of their gear had already been loaded into Stiles' jeep and the flatbed. Allison and Scott were helping each other with their payloads, Lydia was packing their telescopes, and Stiles was sealing their food supplies. When he noticed she had returned, he stopped to come talk to her.

     “I know you're upset,” he began, “But, there'll be more birds, and they'll sing their songs. And we'll remember those days when we thought we'd trade calc for anything.” That got a little laugh out of her. “Don't let that one keep you down.” “Thanks Stiles,” she replied, “But I think I'll be fine. I just needed a little time.” “Well then get back to packing,” Lydia called, “We need to leave before they get a fresh scent.” A low, barely audible roar echoed in the air. It was the call of death that had consumed the world, and it vibrated in their ears, bringing them back to the terror and chaos that not too long ago defined their lives.

     “Three minutes you guys,” Lydia continued, “It sounds like they found a way past the barricades.”

     They were out of there in two, with a few cases of new supplies loaded up alongside everything else they had gathered throughout the year. Scott and Allison took the flatbed, while Stiles rode with Lydia and Misty. Their plan was the same as always, to scrounge what they could from the city for as long as they could. They would outrun the herds, carefully maneuver around wanderers, and avoid the other survivors at all costs. It wasn't the best quality of life, but no one could bear to leave, not quite yet. Their losses bound them here, and the thought of wandering out into the former United States was terrifying. At least here, things had something of a consistency.

     “There they go.” Her eyes peered through the binoculars, watching the small convoy travel down the road. She still found it funny, hilarious even. “They don’t even know what it is they’re dragging around with them.” “Are you ready to begin your plan?” She laughed, turning her eyes towards her companion, allowing the others to continue thinking they were safe. “We, mon cher, are going to have a lot of fun these next few days. We're going to kill her, and them if necessary, and then I'm going to move on with my life in this hellish world.”

     “You're sure she's the last one?” he asked. “There aren't any in the city?” “That school was a couple blocks away from the worst of it, and at the center of the biggest fires. They're dead or worse, and I won’t risk my ass trying to get all the way over there. We finish her,” she ran a finger along his jawline, “And it just might get you your freedom, Mr. Big Bad Wolf.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't feel anything about that.”

     “No you wouldn't,” she patted his cheek, “That's how I know I've still got it. Only thing that remains to be seen is if you remember any of this, which I seriously doubt you will, seeing as how I'm not some amateur with stolen magic.” “Whatever you say Ms. LaVeau.”Shepeered once more through the binoculars, the cars fading into the distance. “We should get moving,” she decided, “I don't want to have too much distance between them and us, especially with that herd nearby.”

     “Nan,” she shouted, “Could you please back away from there? It's not safe.”

     She allowed the curtains to fall back over the barbed wire and wooden planks which covered most of the window. “I know I can still hear things,” she insisted, “It's muffled, and quiet, but it's there. And, I think there are still people.” Madison's cold laughter echoed in the main room. “You really think that matters?” she asked. “We haven't seen an actual person in months who didn't try blowing our heads off, why should we give a shit about anyone out there anymore?” “Girl, we heard the tires this morning,” Queenie interrupted, “Give Nan a break, she's curious.”

     “And curiosity killed the cat,” Madison snapped, “Except now we'd have to worry about her coming back and attacking us. Whoever it was out there, it was probably some coked-up survivors who thought, 'Hey, maybe this totally fucked up neighborhood has some supplies,' who drove the hell away when they saw the literal _thousands_ ofmonstersall over the place.”

     “Enough arguing,” Myrtle interjected, “This negativity is unnecessary and unbecoming, the world has plenty of that already.” “Let's all just calm down,” Cordelia added as she joined everyone, “We have more important matters to attend to.” She tossed a pair of running shoes to Queenie, and pulled a list from her pocket. “Queenie, I want the two of us to go out there this time. We can use this supply run to test some of your powers.”

     “It'll be more like a supply power-walk.” Madison said as she left the room. “Don't trip on the stairs bitch!” Queenie shouted. “Don't let her get to you.” said Cordelia. “I don't think she'll ever change. “I don't.” Queenie laughed. “The one good thing about the apocalypse was me losing all that weight, I look fine as hell.” “Absolutely!” Myrtle exclaimed. “I couldn't be happier for you my dear, and you've looked absolutely splendid in the vintage dresses.” “You do look great Queenie.” Cordelia smiled. “But I'm very curious about how your telekinesis is developing.”

     Queenie raised her hand, and Cordelia slowly ascended into the air, nearlyreachingthe ceiling. “I'd say I'm getting better at it,” Queeniesmirked, “And I’m pretty sure I have a better control of my pyrokinesis.” “I suppose you can flex those mental muscles,” Cordelia said as she was lowered to the floor, “But only if necessary.” “The French Quarter isn't a pile of ash because of the apocalypse.” Myrtle added. “Try not to destroy more of this city's history my dear.” “I said I was sorry.”


	2. Wetland Watchers

    “Where are we again?” Misty asked as she unfolded their weathered and torn map. “I know we're not in Kenner anymore.” “No, we just left it,” Lydia replied as she pointed to the map, “We're on Interstate 10.” She glanced out the window. “There's Bayou Piquant on our right.” “We'll be at the park in a couple of minutes.” said Stiles. “Hopefully we won’t be too rushed.”

     “Which park?” Misty asked as she scanned the map. “Wetland Watchers,” Stiles replied, “Largely untouched, or so we hope.” “Aren't we on the wrong road then?” she asked. “The map says we'll pretty much pass right over it.” Every now and then, something like this would make Stiles wonder where Misty was when everything started to fall apart. The suicide bomber on the interstate made the news circuit even after the mayor was killed, no one could forget it.

     Most of the time he figured her family might not have had a television. But with everything that was happening, you would think you’d find a way to stay in the know. “The interstate collapsed,” he replied, “A lady with a bomb tried to make it to the park, but it went off too soon.” “Shit,” she sighed, “That’s fucked up.”

     She was right, he thought, about the highway essentially right running over the park. Conveniently for them, the road had fallen to form a semi-steep ramp that emergency vehicles used to more quickly reach the park. This alternate route cut out a good chunk of drive time and an unnecessary risk in exposing themselves to the undead. If it came down to it though, if Bourbon Street did follow them to the park, they could attach their plow to the flatbed and surf through on a wave of gore.

     In the days before New Orleans was completely abandoned by government forces, the park was used as an advanced quarantine sight. Children were evacuated to the camp, tents were set up, experts were flown in. Unfortunately, the undead couldn’t be stopped by their rifles and tents, and the sight was abandoned without so much as a single pencil being taken.

     Such a sight would be an attractive spot for looters, but for quite some time the undead surrounded the compound and made the risks far greater than the rewards. That changed with the recent storms, and not many people remained in or around the city. In short, it was likely a treasure trove, one they all desperately needed. MRE’s, ammunition, medicine, sterile utensils, gas, the possibilities went on.

     “Shit, is that it?” Misty asked as she pointed out of her window. “That plastic ghost town?” Her description was a very accurate one. The dozen tents in the park had suffered the worst of four seasons' worth of weather. Stiles stopped his jeep a few feet shy of the largest crack of the ramp. Lydia and Misty jumped out of the car, and Scott and Allison were soon beside them.

     “Looks quiet.” Lydia said as she drew her shotgun. “Just like every other time we were ambushed or attacked.” “Too bad we’ve had a lot of target practice.” Allison had her bow in her hands, a quill of arrows slung over her shoulder. Scott and Stiles followed suit by drawing their weapons of choice, a Berretta and Smith & Wesson respectively.

     Finally, Misty unsheathed a worn machete, adorned with shells and feathers.

      _Pretty_ , Stiles thought.

     “Oh my god.” Misty drew everyone’s attention to a blackened pile of bodies sitting just beyond the tents. Bad memories began to surface in Stiles’ mind. He remembered seeing his dad taken away. He remembered how much blood there was. He remembered how much he screamed for him. He felt sick.

     “Let’s get moving,” he quickly commanded, “We don’t want to give the walkers a chance to find us.” “Walkers?” Lydia scoffed. “You’re really pushing for that name, aren’t you?” “I think it has a nice ring to it.” said Scott. “It makes things seem less, hopeless, if we stop calling them the undead.” “I don’t care what we call them,” Allison interrupted, “As long as they go down the same. But, I am kind of a fan Stiles’ name.” “If you don’t mind it being a bit of a bland.” Misty added.

     The ramp was gradual enough for them to slide down without much difficulty or risk, save for some careful footwork over the various corpses and cars, especially those still submerged in the mud. Sometimes when the storms came through, they wouldn’t blow the walkers away, but would bury them, forcing them into a state of dormancy. If you happened to walk over one, it would attack. They lost friends, and family, to those things.

     Stiles took point. He never liked leading the charge, as he preferred to call it, but he forced himself to do it. He didn’t want to always feel scared. He wanted to make himself think he was brave until it eventually became true. So, all 133 pounds of him had to lead his friends into the ghost town. If sarcasm could kill, he could rack up more bodies than anyone alive.

     Their feet squished and squashed loudly in the mud, dangerously masking any potential activity around them. The footsteps also seemed to echo, so the element of surprise was rather lacking. “Watch out for lurkers.” he said softly. “We can't afford an amputation.”

     The camp was quiet when, as expected. Not wanting to pay it too much mind, but also watching for any movement, they carefully eyed the pile of corpses as they approached the main tent. The flimsy plastic was torn, revealing a rusted metal skeleton and indiscernible crates, hardware, and more. Stiles poked his head inside. As he did, he thought about how idiotic he was, to do something that could so easily lead to his death. Fortunately, the tent was devoid of the infected, and for now was a secured location. Sticking close to its sides, they slid inside the front flap.

   “Just because this tent is empty doesn’t mean the others will be.” said Lydia. “And there could still be lurkers around here. We should search as one group.” “We don’t have time for that,” Allison replied, “The sun’s dipping in the sky. It'll be dark soon.” “Which is why we should stick together.” Lydia continued. “We don’t want any of us being caught alone out there.”

     “If I might interrupt,” said Stiles, “Allison’s right.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re just saying that because she likes your name.” “ _No_.” Stiles didn’t want to admit she was partially right. “We have to get what we need and get off the ground before nightfall. Allison and Scott, you can be a team, _yay_. Misty, you and Lydia should check out the park buildings over there. I'll try to find something that looks safe enough to solo.”

     Lydia clearly didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t want to argue, seeing as it would only waste more time. The camp was in a loose “C” shape, the tent they were in being the center of the shape. Allison and Scott went for the tents to the left, so Stiles decided to take those to the right. If nothing else, they were each just a few seconds apart, in case something went wrong. Then again, that’s all it could take. That’s all it took every time.

     Fifteen seconds. He would never forget it. In fifteen seconds, their group was reduced them from eleven to five. It was dark, the torches were knocked over by the herd, and the fires sparked up so fast they barely had time to grab anything. It was pure luck that they reached the cars in time, having to ignore the dying screams of their friends. He knew they could still hear those screams late at night, inside their heads.

     “This is so wrong.” said Lydia. “Can you imagine what must’ve been going through their heads?” A yellow school bus was resting on its side, the paint chipped and faded, the bus wrapped in vegetation. Looking through the shattered windows, there was a class of small corpses. The wheels were coated in a thick, dry layer of mud, and there were still faint skid marks stretching from the bus to the ground at the edge of the highway.

     “One of them must’ve turned,” Lydia sighed, “And, the driver lost control. They probably burned the bus while-” “Don’t.” Misty was on the verge of tears. “Please don’t say it.” Lydia felt a bit numb to some things now. After watching her mother struggle off the floor, her eyes milky and her mouth wide open, everything went downhill. She tried to keep herself in the light, tried to hold on to her old self. But it was so hard, and things stopped surprising her.

     Then there was Misty. She was what she wanted to be. She could still cry, she could still beg to not hear the gruesome details. She didn’t care so much about the love of animals, but that she still clearly held on to who she was before was amazing. And then she felt guilty for upsetting her.

     “I’m sorry.” She pulled her in for a hug. “They’re in a better place now, at least.” “I don’t want to search the bus.” Misty turned away. “I’m going to go inside those buildings, ok?” Lydia's skin crawled at the thought of going inside. Things may not have surprised her as much anymore, but the feelings of dread and fear were as fresh as the day the reports began.

     She wanted Misty to stay nearby, if for nothing more than the security of having someone be there for you. “Actually,” Misty continued, “I think I’ll stay out here with you.” She glanced at the buss full of dead children. “I wouldn't want to be left alone with them.”

     “Any luck?” Allison peeled the lid off another murky container. Again, it was useless, filled with nothing but indistinguishable, rusted junk. “Nothing yet,” she replied, “But since that’s the fifth box that’s had old scrap in it, I think it’s safe to say this isn’t the tent for us.” They looked up, at a sign barely clinging to life. “Mechanics and Engineering,” they read aloud, “Storage unit 2 of 2.”

     Allison chuckled. “I love having these stupid moments,” she said, “It’s a nice alternative to, everything else.” “Especially when it’s with you.” Scott wiped the sludge from arms, a potential mood killer, and wrapped his hands around Allison’s waist. “And speaking of sharing,” he continued, “I think the others will be busy long enough.” “My word,” Allison teased as she tried a laughable British accent, “Who do you take me for?” She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “At least a half hour, if we can count on Stiles’ meticulousness.”

     “Thirty boxes of water jugs,” Stiles exclaimed, “Hell to the yeah!” The tent was filled with many different containers, filled with liquids of murky greens and browns, scary blues and reds, and then, some clear, pure water. A sign on the ground read “Relief Supplies: Liquids,” clean drinking water was definitely a pleasant relief. Stiles cringed as he remembered their great diarrhea fiasco, when contaminated water had them literally shitting themselves as they ran for their lives. It was one of the few times he could actually laugh about a life or death situation. As though the universe wanted to join in on the joke, the next box he stumbled upon was filled with Pepto-Bismol. Expired, of course.

     Misty watched as Lydia climbed inside the bus. This wasn't a world she very much liked taking part in. There was so much death and decay, so much she was powerless to reverse. Animals were easy to save. Whatever made people into these monsters didn't seem to have the same effect on them, at least most of the time. But the people? The disease was almost palpable to her, and she often felt nauseous, though she learned to keep it hidden. She didn't want them to worry too much about her.

     Suddenly, she felt something grip her. She turned back to the buildings, and felt compelled to go inside. It was a sensation she usually felt when someone, alive, was nearby. She had occasionally mistaken wildlife for other survivors, but on more than one occasion she was able to find some friendly faces. And, one time, someone who wasn't so friendly. Her mind drifted away from what she was supposed to be doing, disregarding the possible dangers, and she wandered inside.

     She almost immediately regretted it. The lobby revealed the aftermath of a terrible massacre. There were dead bodies scattered throughout, filled with bullet hole and piled atop each other. “All this death, all this horror.” She saw a teddy bear cradled in the arms of one of the bodies. “Children,” she continued, “They don't deserve this. They deserve life.” She shook the urge. Their bodies were too far gone, too rotten to save, and she knew there was no chance for them. She tied a flower beneath her nose and carefully stepped over the bodies.

     _What'll I even find in here_ , she wondered, _What could possibly be useful to us in here? This is just a big graveyard_. She felt very nervous moving forward, as many bodies didn’t have a discernable bullet hole in the head. She kept her machete ready, though the sensation persisted, and in some way, it was guiding her. It was as if a part of her was so drawn to life that she couldn’t control her legs.

    Finally, she cleared the massive pile of corpses, the dark, empty hallway before her being a preferable alternative. She turned on her flashlight, and gasped as the light quickly flickered off. “Shit,” she started smacking it, “I knew I should've changed them yesterday.” The hall was very short, and lead only to one room at its end, one on its left, and one on its right. The darkness was interrupted by warm light pouring in from the room at the end of the hall, so she decided to continue.

     The sensation was growing stronger, and something inside her seemed to be coiling up, and she wanted to scream. This was different.

     There was no one, or thing, inside the room. The far wall had all but fallen over, the blood orange sun casting a beautiful canvas of colors on her body glow inside. The room was filled with empty cabinets and drawers, every one she pulled open being devoid of supplies or items of interest.

     “Dammit,” she slammed another drawer shut, “Someone else must've been through here.” Then she noticed something on the floor. It was a walkie talkie, but it was so clean, without any dirt or grime on it. She picked it up, and started to fiddle with the knobs. Nothing but static was coming through. She began to absent-mindedly flip through the signals when she heard something. It was a brief moment of chatter, with a distinctly male voice. “Hello?” she frantically asked. “Hello, can you hear me?”

     _AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!_

_HELP!!!_

     “Did you hear that?” Allison was struggling to clip the back of her bra together as Scott pulled his briefs up to his waist. “Shit!” Her fingers slipped, and her bra slid off her chest. “Could you clip me Scott?” She heard the clip of her bra, and she allowed her hair to flow down her back. “Thanks. Now hurry up and get dressed before-”

     The tent flap was violently torn aside. Stiles had a wild look on his face, which was quickly replaced by a stern expression of irritation. “Really?” he shouted. “Is this really a romantic setting?” “Couldn’t you have knocked?” Allison asked in shock. “It’s a tent,” he continued, “And didn't you hear the scream?” Allison began to say something, but Stiles quickly rushed off.

     “Help me!” Lydia struggled to climb up the seats of the bus, the gelatinous corpses tugging on her clothes and trying to pull her down. “Misty,” she cried, “Where are you?” She dug her nails into the rotting seats, tearing the fabric as she hoisted herself up. In her panic, she dropped her shotgun among the lurkers, and their crawling bodies quickly covered it. She didn’t have a sidearm, and a knife was hardly any help right now.

     Suddenly, the seat she was climbing gave way. The metal legs tore away from the floor and the seat bent at a sharp angle, throwing her onto the writhing mass of flesh, arms slowly flailing to catch their prey. She panicked and squirmed, finding herself covered in putrid gore. One hand caught her right arm, the same happening with the left. She saw two decayed mouths opening, their nightmarish teeth seeking her flesh. Their bodies may have been closer to goo than a solid, but their grip was strong enough to pin her down. Another pair of arms grabbed her legs.

     “Please!” she cried. “Help me!”


	3. Complications

     One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, *click*.

     The growling mass of rotten flesh was silenced, replaced by Lydia's own short and panicked breaths. She could feel the bits and pieces of flesh on her face and hair, all the faces around her having their foreheads blown out and their jaws stuck open. Those hands that had wrapped their skeletal fingers around her limbs had gone limp, weakly clinging to her forearms and ankles. She scrambled up, struggling to find her footing.

     “Be careful,” he shouted, “Take deep breaths Lydia.” She turned around to see Stiles, hanging upside down in the opened door at the front of the bus. His pistol was still pointing at one of the walkers, a faint stream of smoke bleeding out of the barrel. “Did any of them bite you?”

     She checked her arms and legs, and though she was a bit sore, she didn’t see any bites or scratches. “I’m clean.” She knew how lucky she was, and that she likely wouldn’t be so lucky again. “I heard you screaming,” he continued, “And it looks I got here just in time.” Though well out of breath, she managed to respond with a weak chuckle. She carefully made her way over the corpses, relieved to know they were truly dead.

     Stiles' face twisted when she approached him, the stench no doubt striking his nose as unbearably revolting. “Sorry,” she said through recovering gasps, “I know it smells awful. Those fuckers ruined my clothes.” Stiles pulled himself out of the door, propping himself upright so he could pull Lydia out. She quickly threw her top off, the gore weighing it down and causing it to splat on the side of the bus.

     It was a bit cold, but she could tell she smelled immensely better. “Mind if I borrow something?” she asked as she crossed her arms. Her bra didn't offer much coverage, and lace did a shit job at keeping someone warm. It didn't feel as too awkward seeing her like this anymore, but he could feel himself blushing a little. His jacket was a bit big on her, but it was better than nothing. As she took a deep breath, the clean outside air filling her lungs, something popped into her head.

     _Misty_.

     “Where the fuck is she?” she shouted as Scott and Allison joined them. “Where the hell did she go?” “What do you mean?” Allison asked. “Was she supposed to be here?” Her anger quickly died down. “Hold on,” Stiles added, “Where is she? Misty!” There were only the sounds of a few birds chirping, and the nightly buzz of the insects. “Misty!” Lydia shouted. “I’m not mad, just please come out!”

     Still nothing.

     In a frenzy they all ran inside the main building, nearly stumbling over the corpses laid out across the floor. None of them seemed to be alive, or, undead, and it was unlikely they would still be motionless after all the noise. “Misty!” Stiles called again, hoping they would hear something, anything. But, if she still wasn’t answering, there was a very likely explanation.

     Everyone seemed to be thinking it, but no one said a word. “Teams of two,” he barely spoke above a whisper, “Lydia, let’s look around here. Scott, Allison, check the other buildings.” He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “If you find her, make sure, she doesn’t come back, ok?” He reloaded, reeling at the thought of having to use it on her. “She might be alive.” Allison said as she left the room. “Maybe she’s hiding.”

     That’s never what it was. He was already bracing himself to only wake up to three people.

     He flinched when Lydia placed her hand on his shoulder. “Not until we see it.” She forced a smile. They knew this wasn’t going to end well, it was just a matter of time. “Maybe-” She didn’t continue. Instead, she motioned for him to follow her, and they headed towards a hallway that wasn’t littered with corpses. They could see the flickering daylight dancing on the floor.

     “Why didn’t we hear her?” she asked as she opened another locker. “If something happened, she should’ve screamed, or called for help.” “Lydia was closer.” he replied. “And, you know how loud she can scream. Misty might’ve been calling.” “And we didn’t even know it.” She felt so guilty. Misty might be dead, but if she died wondering why no one came to help her?

     “Hey.” Scott wiped a tear from her face. She didn’t even realize she was crying. “She could still be alive.” “But we know she isn’t.” Now the tears poured more freely. “Think of every time we thought someone was ok. Every time we had to put down a friend.”

     “Every time we had to put down someone we loved.” Stiles hated everything about this. He hated seeing their group shrink down, good people dying one by one. Misty was different. There was something just so, unique, about her, something none of them quite understood, but she was perfect company. “We won’t forget her.” Lydia added as they reached the room where the light was coming from. “We never have to forget anyone that we loved.”

     The room was empty, most of the drawers slightly ajar or fallen onto the floor. The sun was starting to dip further behind the tree line, and darkness was replacing most of the reds and oranges in the sky. “The other rooms were all boarded up.” said Lydia. “Let’s look around. Maybe she’s-” “Wait!” He noticed mud on the ground, with smeared and overlapping footprints. “Something happened here.”

     He followed the footprints outside, where they became deeper, more overlapped, and there were drag lines. Then, it all ended at the water, which was washing away the tracks closest to it. “Stiles,” said Lydia, “This wasn’t the walkers.” He saw a big, white shell beneath the surface of the water. Reaching  for it, he felt the handle, and pulled Misty’ machete from the murky water. “Someone took her.”

 

     “Looks like someone's doing our job for us.” She recognized the men who took her. They were assholes, absolute pieces of shit. “But I do _not_ want those fuckers taking her down!” “You wish to follow them?” asked Derek. She pondered his question, as it would probably be a short chase if they started now. Then again, they must’ve had some reason for taking her, and not simply killing her. Perhaps she was too hasty in assuming the others were dead.

     “Yes and no.” she replied. “No in that it won't be their trail we're following, but yes, in that we'll be following her friends.” She turned her eyes away from the scene unfolding up the road, and instead reaching into her bag. She drew a curved dagger, the handle built from bone, and the blade was colored a brilliant crimson in the final minutes of daylight. “If there are others, there might be the Supreme. And I would take great pleasure in driving this through her heart.”

     “The others will be on edge. Following them could be a bit difficult.” “Oh I know,” she replied as she sheathed the dagger, “And I don’t want to scare them off already. However, I would like to try something.” A part of him could sense what she was going to say, and it would usually affect how he responded. It was easier to keep a controlled connection this way, and far less tiring on her.

     “Infiltration.” he said. “Could be a challenge.” “Good thing you look like a supermodel then. I’m sure at least one of them will be dumbstruck enough to convince everyone else to let you in.”

 

     “Stiles,” Scott shouted, “Stop!” He had her machete in one hand, and his gun in the other. She was alive, but if someone takes you alive, there’s only a few things they have in mind: rape, cannibalism, or walker fights. He wasn’t going to let any of that happen to her. He wasn’t going to let that happen to any of them. He was sick of losing people. He was sick of seeing everyone from his old life vanish. There was an old boat on the shore, and that would have to do.

     “Stiles!” He felt a hand grip his shoulder, stopping him right in his tracks and spinning around. Lydia. “What do you think you’re doing?” “We were ready to accept her death,” he began, “I was preparing myself to see her body covered in bites. But she’s alive, and someone has her. You know what kidnappers do to people, we can’t let that happen to her too.” “And if we run off into the dark,” she shouted, “They’ll pick us off one by one.”

     “We can search in the morning,” Scott added, “As soon as there’s light in the sky, we’ll-” “The trail will be cold.” Stiles interrupted. “If we wait that long, we’re killing her. We have to-” Lydia smacked him, hard enough that he could already feel the bruise coming. “We have to be smart.” she continued. “We’re killing her if we go off half-cocked like this.” “None of us want to lose her Stiles,” Allison added, “But it’s too late for us right now.”

     He looked at the boat again. It was riddled with holes, and the wood was rotting away. It wouldn’t have made it past the shore. They were right. They couldn’t help her now, but he felt like finding her alive tomorrow would be pushing their luck. He had to be ready to find her, dead or alive. They headed back towards camp, and he clipped her machete to one of his belt loops. The sun had finally set, and the light of the nearly full moon guided their way back.

 

     “Get inside!” With the flick of her wrist, Queenie swatted away the walkers tailing Cordelia. She jumped inside the store, slamming the door behind her as Queenie knocked over a shelf. “Shit,” she continued, “I guess they decided to stick around a while longer.” “I guess those strangers passed closer than we thought,” Cordelia replied, “They rang the fucking dinner bell.” “We have to find a way back, we can’t fight them all off.”

     Cordelia realized the back door wasn't barricaded, and though the sun had set, there was enough light from the moon to show that there weren’t any of the undead outside. “Let's go out the back,” she suggested, “And hope that we can get up a ladder.” “That’s a big if,” Queenie sighed, “But, sure, let’s do it. And if not, I could always try burning a path back home.”

     “Out of the question,” Cordelia snapped, “We could burn down the school if it spreads.” The door splintered behind the shelf, and it started to rock as more hands and arms broke through. “You said I could earlier.” “We can’t concentrate like this, the fire could spread to the school, we can’t risk it.” “Tell that to them!” The shelf toppled over, and the two rushed out the back door. There weren’t as many of them on the street, but they began to realize they might be surrounded.

     “Cordelia,” Queenie continued, “If we want to survive, if we want _witches_ to survive this, we have to take risks. You’ve shown us that you’re more than a teacher. You're strong, you're powerful, and you have to let me be too.” Before Cordelia could answer, she spotted a ladder on the side of the building, tearing off the cage with her mind and urging Queenie to follow her.

     On the roof, they could see that it was more than one herd. They were in a sickle shape all around them, closing in so that there seemed to be no way out. “Cordelia,” she continued, “Just give me the benefit of the doubt, ok?” She nodded, and Queenie happily raised her hands into the air.

 

     Through the windows in the kitchen, the girls could see a huge orange glow in the city. “Holy shit,” said Madison, “I think that’s them.” “Something must’ve gone wrong,” Myrtle observed, “There was never any talk of starting a fire this large.” “Not like it’s a bad thing,” Madison added, “That’ll easily take out a couple hundred of those fuckers.” “I just hope it doesn’t spread.” Nan said. “I don’t want us to have to leave, I like my room.”

 

     “Holy shit,” Cordelia shouted as the flames died down, the bodies dropping lifelessly, “That was amazing!” “Hell yeah it was,” Queenie replied, “My nose is barely bleeding at all, and my head doesn’t feel like I slammed it against a wall.” There was a thick plume of black smoke rising from the streets, and some of the bodies were glowing like dying coals in a fire. “Thank you for what you said.” Cordelia began. “It, meant a lot hearing that from you.”

     “Yeah, well, you mean a lot to us. I even think Madison loves you, but don’t expect her to ever say it.” “I think it’s more likely for everything to suddenly snap back to normal.” “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Something caught their eye. A block down, there was an open window, with a distinctly electrical light on inside. “Someone’s here,” Cordelia whispered, “And I’d be surprised if they didn’t see us.” “Then let’s check it out.”

     It wasn’t the best idea, but if their cover was blown, they needed to do damage control. If it was someone with malicious intent, they knew how best to take care of that. If not, and if they weren’t sufficiently terrified, maybe they could work out a peaceful solution. Maybe they could even invite them back to the school, after a thorough search of course.

     There were planks across most of the buildings in the area, a common practice when the city was bit livelier and looting was still looting, and not a survival necessity. They creaked and groaned when they stepped onto them, but they were still sturdy. As they got closer, something started to feel off. It was a large window, so they could see a fair amount of space within the room. There were no shadows moving within, no attempts to conceal the light. When they were a couple rooftops away, they decided to stop their approach.

     “Alright,” Queenie whispered, “I think this might’ve been a bad idea.” “If it was someone who was living here,” Cordelia added, “They would know better than to keep a light on like this, or to keep their window open so wide.” They were crouched behind a large air conditioning unit near the rooftop access, and if they looked enough to their right they could look directly inside the room. It looked completely empty.

     “Let’s call out.” Queenie suggested. “We’ll see if there’s anything going on inside. If not, we’ll quietly, but quickly, get the fuck out of here.” “Couldn’t have said it better myself. On the off chance this is an attack, how about I do the calling, and you be ready to lay down some fire.” “Or to become a voodoo doll.”

     “No need for that ladies.”


	4. Under the Cover of Night

     When the evacuations began to fall apart, many tried to escape through the bayous. Most never made it to the edges of the water, and those who did never came out. Some said they died, having already been exposed to the virus and dying out there, alone and afraid. Others believed that they stayed out there, deciding to try living in secrecy. And others still, if they survived long enough, learned that there was truth in both these things.

     Many were already infected, and as such the bayous were littered with walkers. However, some created communities, which quickly fell to savagery. Recluses, they called them. Some people said they cooked the infected flesh and ate it, and it was slowly rotting their brains. Others believed that the hellish nightmare that the wilderness was becoming drove them to desperation. They themselves sometimes raved about having supernatural powers, or likened themselves to mythical creatures.

     The former two were far more likely than the later.

     Either way though, those people managed to gather most of what everyone else left behind, becoming a group of raiders based around second hand items and weapons that the military had left behind. They personally came across some of these people on three separate occasions, one time losing three of their own, and the other two times, having learned from their mistakes, gunned them down. If it was them, it would be incredibly dangerous to face them.

     It would be even deadlier if they were wrong.

     “We won’t be able to track them.” said Lydia. “But, if they haven’t relocated in the last few months, they’re in some of the larger mangrove patches.” “But it might not be them.” said Allison. “Anyone could’ve come in and taken her. And aren’t they known for killing more than kidnapping?” The plastic tents had an eerie glow to them at night, and they quickly made their way back to the ramp. “It isn’t unheard of,” Lydia replied, “But I do think we should try to be as certain as we can before diving in.”

     “As long as it doesn’t take too long,” Stiles said as they started up to the highway, “She really won’t have much time if they took her.” He slipped on a loose piece of concrete, and Scott’s arm caught him as he tumbled down. “Let’s just get through the night, ok?” Stiles found his footing again, and they continued up the ramp. The clouds occasionally passed over the moon, but the sky was mostly clear that night.

     Their cars were fairly illuminated, and looking down the road, there was no sign of the herd from earlier. “Maybe they found something else.” Scott suggested as he headed for the truck. “Stiles, let’s block the road, yeah?” “Sure thing man.” With the truck and his jeep parked bumper to bumper, it was almost enough to completely block off both lanes on the highway. The makeshift guard station would go on the flatbed, and their tents would have the openings facing the cars, in the vent they need to make a hasty escape.

     As Stiles started building a fire pit, striking the flint with a small rock, Lydia noticed something out towards the city. Filtering the moonlight, becoming hazy and grey, there was a massive cloud of smoke billowing out from the middle of the city. “There was a fire.” she announced. “There’s, a shit ton of smoke coming out of the city.” “I’m glad we’re out here then.” Allison said as she stared at the cloud. “Hopefully it took some of the, walkers, down.”

     “Shouldn’t there still be some flames though?” Scott asked. “That definitely wasn’t there when we parked.”

     “One mystery at a time,” the sparks finally started a fire, “Let’s get dinner rolling, yeah?” For good measure, and a force of habit, they set their pot on top of the flames and poured the water from the camp inside. It seemed clean enough, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The meat they had would only be good for another day, but with the herd so close, it was safer to go with the canned foods. One still had the Chef Boyardee logo on the side, while the other revealed itself as some kind of fruit cocktail when they cracked it open.

     It wasn’t the most balanced diet, and it was hard for them to make sure they at least a minimum daily dose of this and that, but they were managing. Their faces weren’t sunken in, their bodies weren’t flabby, but a few extra pounds certainly wouldn’t hurt anyone. As they made their plates, Allison realized she had accidentally made a fifth one. They quietly distributed it amongst themselves, and hoped that this wouldn’t have to happen again.

 

     Her forehead was throbbing. It was a painful challenge to open her eyes, like her body wanted her to try going back to sleep. The sun had set and gone, and everything around her was bathed in moonlight. Her vision was blurred, but she could identify the end of an oar slowly dipping above and below the side of the boat. Boat? What was she doing here?

     No, no, she knew.

     There were three of them, armed men much stronger than her. Not the ones from the swamp. They were more, civilized. They knocked her machete from her hands before she could swing it at them, and they dragged her to the water as she kicked and screamed. Why didn’t anyone come to her? Then one of them grabbed a baseball bat, and the world went dark.

     “Look who’s awake.”

     She arduously turned her head. Everything was slowly coming into focus. They were definitely the same men who attacked her. Two were rowing the boat, a canoe as it would appear, and the third sat right in front of her, a lantern at his feet and bat in his arms. “After so long, we weren’t sure if we would find you. Then we got lucky. It wasn’t even planned.”

     “Who are you?” she managed to mutter. “Where are we going?” “Who I am isn't important. What's important is what you are.” She only heard a few people say to her before, and the thought of what followed afterwards terrified her. How could someone else know what she was? Who the hell were these people?

     “To think that so many of you survived the end of the world sickens me.” _Others_. “What others?” Her head was still pounding. “How, how, many have you killed? How do you know?” The stranger smiled. “Unfortunately, we’ve just arrived, so our body count leaves a lot to be desired. Elsewhere though?” He drummed his fingers on the bat. “Honestly, we hoped the walkers did all the work here for us. But then we saw that it was still standing, and we knew we had to do something.”

     He wasn’t making any sense, but she had a feeling that didn’t matter. If she didn’t find a way out, they were going to kill her. “I wouldn’t try running.” His timing chilled her. “That pounding in your head? It’s a very special drug that suppresses your, powers.” He smiled again. “Surprising, isn’t it? If we had it before all this went to shit, we could’ve ended all of you ages ago.” “So why am I still alive?” she considered jumping into the water. She wouldn’t be able to swim, but it would be better than this.

     “You’re useful for now.” he replied as he grabbed onto the rope around her wrists. “We need you alive, at least barely.” “What is that supposed to mean?” One of the men swung his oar, striking her on the side of the head and knocked her out. “She was asking too many questions.” “Well let’s hope you didn’t give her a concussion,” the other man snapped, “We can’t come back empty-handed, especially since the others are coming back with _two_ of them.”

 

     The hours were barely creeping by. The moon seemed to hang forever in a single spot, minutes dragged on and on, and he couldn’t stop worrying. His mind was still racing, and his body reluctantly accepted that they would have to stay awake a while longer. He thought about taking a walk. There was enough light, and if he made it back within the hour, Scott would never have to know he left. It might do him some good, and help keep him awake.

     He hopped off the truck, and slowly walked towards the city. He tried to think of things that didn’t have anything to do with the past year, but it was such a challenge. The world as it used to be was becoming such a distant reality, and one that they knew would never return. They thought that maybe things would start to turn around, eventually, but it was such a long year.

     There were no planes, no radio transmissions, no signs that the world was recovering. Just death, overgrowth, rot, and more death.

     _So much for happy thoughts_ , he thought.

     There were some good things that happened though. He lost his virginity, in as many ways as he could. He finally kissed a girl, and they popped each other’s cherries a few nights later. Alexis. She was nice enough, but it wasn’t as good as he thought it would be. Then there was his first time kissing a guy, which was _much_ better, though Danny did have more experience than he did. When they slept together, _that_ felt as good as he thought it would, though a lack of any kind of lube kept them from going all the way.

     But he was dead too. Or, they never saw him again. But after so many months, it was easy to guess what might’ve happened. Since then he hadn’t had much action, Misty being an amazing friend who happened to be a girl, and he and Lydia talking about how their friendship meant more than an actual relationship. He didn’t exactly like that, but he certainly didn’t mind having her as a friend. She was a great person, she just wasn’t for him.

     This line of thought helped. He couldn’t put Misty out of his head, but this was enough of a distraction. He came across an area that had a huge patch of plant growth, vines breaking apart the concrete and flowers beginning to bloom. Misty always talked about having a garden one day, but not with any of the plants taking over the city. She wanted to find the exotic, rare flowers that came from oversees. She figured there had to be some left, or at least the seeds.

     That always made him think about when they would be able to have that stability. It wouldn’t be until after they left the city, but they needed so much more to do that. They had no idea what was out there, how many walkers or herds were roaming the country, or what kind of people they would encounter. It would be safer at least to have a bigger group.

     Even if it was just the five.

 

     “I thought he would never leave.” Marie motioned for Derek to follow her over the truck. “Let’s make this quick.” The fire pit had only few small branches still glowing inside it, and there were no lights coming from inside the tents. She wished the hunters hadn’t interfered, otherwise she could’ve slit the witch’s throat and been done with it. She wouldn’t even need Derek, and she could just dispose of him too. The coming full moon mad her just ever so slightly nervous, and it would be so satisfying to do so much dirty work herself.

     Then again, now she knew there were others.

     She couldn’t decide where would be the best place to plant the note. It had to be out of sight, to not seem too obvious, but somewhere, close, to make them paranoid. It was a mind game of sorts, one that was more easily done with magic, but very satisfying to do the traditional way.

     “Here.” Derek whispered, pointing to the jeep. Not a bad idea. He lifted the windshield wiper as she crumpled the note, just for a bit of flair, and slid it onto the windshield. “Wait for them to read it,” she commanded, “Then, do it how we practiced. I’m going to follow the others, but don’t think my hold on you will be any weaker.”

     “Yes ma’am.”

     He would stay under the highway, and she would hurry back to where she last saw the lantern on the water. They weren’t moving too quickly, but it was better to stay as close as she could. The thought of running into one of the undead at night was a bit terrifying, but it was reassuring to know that she was immune. She had no idea that’s what the deal entailed, but she didn’t plan on complaining.

     A lot of unexpected things had happened, the biggest by far being the apocalypse, but everything could still work out for her despite it all. _That_ was exciting.


	5. Infiltrated

     "I don't hear them." She had been staring through the window ever since they noticed the flames. Her eyes were heavier than they had been in months, but she didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing them come home. The sun was inching over the city skyline, rays of light pushing back the shroud darkness, but no one came out of it.

     "They should've been back hours ago.” Myrtle tried to stay awake with Nan, but gave out after a few hours. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but her body became aggressively tired if she couldn’t get any tea or coffee, of which there was neither anymore. “I hope they’re ok, just, hiding somewhere until it’s safer to come back.

     "They started a fire big enough to burn down the city.” Madison was getting dressed as she joined them in the kitchen. "They probably got surrounded, and maybe they’re dead, or maybe they’re hiding. What’s for breakfast?” "Why don’t you care?” Nan snapped. "You never say anything nice, you never care about us, why are you still _here_?!"

     Madison rolled her eyes before going to the fridge. Since it was a while since it held a cold temperature, it was a glorified cabinet these days. "This is a shelter.” Madison began. “That’s what this place has always been, right?” “As much as I dread where this is going,” Myrtle replied, “This has been a shelter for our kind for generations.” “So,” Madison continued, “That’s reason one why I’m here.” She finally found the cereal, which tasted like shit with water, but it was enough when she added a bit of sugar.

     “Reason number two,” she grabbed a bowel from the actual cabinet, “I pull my weight. I go out there, I risk my life so we can keep living.” She considered going to the living room, but the kitchen would be more dramatic. “Wanna guess what reason three is?” Nan had a scowl on her face, and didn’t feel like replying to her.

     “Fine then,” she said as she took the first bite, “I’ll tell you. Shit, I miss milk. Anyways, I don’t need a third reason. I have enough of a reason to be here, but that doesn’t mean I have to develop some kind of deeper appreciation and love for all of you just because everyone out there is dying.” Nan still didn’t say anything, but there were tears running down her face. Madison didn’t mean to make her cry, but she didn’t feel like justifying herself this early in the day.

     “Let’s just have something to eat.” Myrtle broke the silence. “Whether we like it or not we’re in this together. And I do hope they come back. Please, _come back_.”

 

     If he could pull one good thing from everything happening, it was that he no longer needed an alarm clock to wake up. He had one of the thinnest tents in the group, and the sun always managed to shine through the plastic walls. It usually meant he was the first one up as well, but everyone’s bodies seemed to have it hardwired to wake up about five or ten minutes after he did.

     So, he decided to get a head start on the day. He noticed the pile of clothes Lydia had disowned, sitting in a stinky pile behind her tent. A fire would do a great job at masking the scent, so he got one started before he headed for his jeep. He wasn’t sure where they would start, but the map would probably fit somewhere in their plan.

     When he grabbed it from his glove compartment, he noticed something different. He took a few steps back, and it took him a moment to notice the paper clipped to his windshield. Once he looked at it for a few seconds more, he realized how bad this was. He walked off. He left them alone. It was fine, it was safe, but, it wasn’t. Someone came into the camp. Someone left a note.

     Then again, this could be a lead.

     “Stiles.” Scott’s voice scared the shit out of him. He would wake up sounding so groggy that his voice seemed to completely change. "What’s on your car?" He lifted the wiper and handed him the note. “I don’t know,” he replied, “But I think someone must’ve left it in the night?” “When?” He was clearly shaken, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. “We always have someone on watch.” “Well,” he figured he might as well confess, “I, took a bit of a walk last night.”

     Scott’s expressions never got too intense between the two of them. The worst it got was something like a stern parent’s expression. The trick was seeing what was in his eyes. And right now, they were full of pissed off-ness.

     “I was gone for ten minutes at the most,” he continued, “I needed to clear my head, I couldn’t concentrate.” “Dude, you know we’re not allowed to do that. It’s _your_ rule.” “I know I fucked up, and this could’ve gotten us killed, I know how bad it is, but this could be a lead, the only one we have, on where Misty is.”

     “It sounds like bad things are happening here,” Allison said as she joined them, “What’s going on?” “Bad things,” Scott replied, “But Stiles is saying it’s a good thing.” “It is a good thing,” said Stiles, “But, it happened because I did a bad thing.” “What bad thing did he do Scott?” “He broke one of his rules.” She gasped, a bit overdramatically, but also conveying some concern. “Before we go any further,” she continued, “Let’s start speaking in specifics, ok?”

     “And wait for me,” Lydia said as she pulled her arm through the sleeve of her shirt, “I don’t stink too much like death anymore.” Her eyes fixed on the paper. “What the hell is that and how did it get here?” “I took a walk last night,” Stiles began, “And when I did, someone snuck in and left this note on my car.” “So you broke one of your own rules?” She rolled her eyes and snatched the piece of paper from Scott’s hand. She unfolded it and read it aloud.

     _What is the value of a life? What is the value of her life? For you to not know how vile she is, that is a sin. If you want to see her again, come to the city. If you truly care about her, we will not be hard to find._

     “Cryptic,” Lydia continued, “Vague, annoying, but not what I would expect from the people out in the swamps. Stiles, what the fuck?” “You know what won’t help anything?” he replied. “Stressing how stupid I was when I already know how much I messed up, I’m very sorry, let’s decide what we’re going to do with this.” “I’m not letting this go,” Lydia interrupted, “But you do have a point.”

     Stiles rolled out the map on the hood of his car, and everyone gathered around. “Whoever this is,” she continued, “They’ve shown us that they can get to us while we’re sleeping, and they can steal our friends right out from under our noses.” “Which is really fucking creepy.” said Scott. “They could’ve already killed us.”

     “They think Misty’s important,” Allison added, “Or at least that’s what the letter is implying.” “They might think there’s something different about all of us,” said Lydia, “So we’re dealing with people who are definitely crazy, but still smart enough to sneak into our camp and lure us into a trap.”

     “Definitely a trap,” said Scott, “There’s only a few ways into the city, they have to know that.” “So they’ll be watching us.” said Allison. “Guys, how’re we going to handle this?” This would probably go on for a while. It was therapeutic to talk things through, but Stiles was worried about everything this note was implying. Scott already hit the big points, but there were so many other questions.

     How many people would they have to deal with? Why them? Why was Misty specifically something special? And, could they even help her? He hated thinking it, but maybe they would have to leave for good. Then again, could they escape these people? And could they live with having to leave another friend behind?

     “Stop!” Scott leapt onto the hood, clicking the safety off and drawing his gun. Everyone else quickly leapt into action, drawing their weapons before they even knew what they he had seen. There was a person, down the highway and walking towards them. They could tell whoever it was wasn’t a walker, both from the coordinated steps and the posture. He didn’t have anything in his hands, but as he drew closer they could see cuts on his arms and chest.

     “Stop!” Scott shouted again, and this time he listened. He was a thousand feet away, give or take, and he raised his hands in the air. “I’m unarmed!” he called out. “I need help!” “We’ve heard that plenty of times before.” Lydia and Allison turned around, just in case this was an ambush. “You’ll need to do more than that for us.”

     Stiles felt a little guilty thinking this, but whoever this was, they looked kinda hot. Granted he was still far away, and that might change, but so far so good. Hopefully he wasn’t trying to kill them.

     “Did they leave a note?” They were stunned. “I know because they left one for me too!” “What happened to you?” Stiles shouted. “Why’re you cut up?” “I got away, but when I got back to my camp they were all gone.” “Where’s your camp?” Lydia didn’t turn her back to ask. “We need evidence buddy, you’re looking a bit suspicious you know.”

     “The herd is passing through it! I know I look suspicious, you don’t have to trust me! Just give me a chance, and you can kick me out if you think I’m lying to you!”

     “I don’t think it’s a trap,” Stiles whispered, “It just doesn’t feel like it.” “The timing is a bit suspicious.” Lydia replied. “Though, there are better ways to ambush someone.” “Let’s just see what he’s got to say,” Stiles continued, “And if things don’t seem right, we get out of here as fast as we can.” “Want me to start packing everything up?” Allison asked. “I’ll help,” said Lydia, “You two, let him know.”

     He hadn’t taken another step, or at least it didn’t seem like he did, so that had to count for something. He was taking a huge risk being out in the open like this, but he wanted them to at least hear him out. “Come on over!” Stiles shouted. “Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

     He smiled and started to jog over. As he got closer, Stiles realized that this guy was a hell of a lot hotter than he thought. The beard, his jawline, those eyes, those muscles. His shirt hugged his body, emphasizing every line and bump on his chest. How in the hell did he manage to stay in shape? Wait, how did he stay in shape? Did his group mange to take a whole supermarket with them? It was a red flag, or at least a yellow one, but that didn’t mean he had to stop appreciating how hot he was.

     When he finally came up to the trucks, Stiles was hoping that whoever this guy was, that he really was on their side. If not, it was going to be a real shame to have to kill him. “Well you’re quite the looker,” Lydia said as she loaded tow of the tents onto the truck, “Didn’t know there was still a gym running around here.” He laughed, and Stiles couldn’t believe how cute he thought it was. It wasn’t even that much of a laugh, but the way his face moved, the way his lips pursed.

     _Fuck_ , he thought, _I really need to get laid_.

     “What’s your name?” Stiles managed to utter. “I think that’s a good place to start.” The stranger’s eyes looked him up and down, and Stiles could feel his cheeks turning red. “My name’s Derek.”

 

     "My name is Cordelia Foxx." The masked man hit her with the butt of his gun. She could feel her blood, warm on her skin in the frigid room, trickling down her cheek. "Now was that so hard?" This was a nightmare. She thought the hunter died with the world, but of course they of all people would still be alive. She couldn’t concentrate enough to do anything, and her head was pounding even before they started beating her.

     "I’m surprised you came all the way out here.” Speaking was such a struggle, but if she could keep him talking, it might keep her a live a little while longer. “Shouldn’t you be in some town in California?” “Some of us stayed, but, we figured it would be safer to make sure that all of you went down with the city.” She couldn’t keep her head up anymore, but as it started to fall his hand gripped her hair and pulled it back up.

     “Don’t go yet, this is just the beginning.” “You were stupid motherfuckers before the apocalypse, and you’re still stupid motherfuckers today. People are dying. The entire human race is dying. We’re part of that human race, killing us hurts everyone.” Her hit her again, and this time she could hear and feel her nose crack, blood trickling onto her lips and pants.

     "Believe me, this world may have gone to hell, but I will be eaten alive before I allow witches to go freely." She was afraid he would hit her again, but instead he wiped some of the blood from her nose, smeared it on his shirt, and then walked out.

     She was alone, with Queenie, who they had knocked unconscious again before injecting her with what she could only assume was some kind of anesthetic or tranquilizer. She could see her chest moving up and down, assuring her that she was alive, but she had no idea how long she would stay under, or how long either of them had. The room they were in was stained with dark splotches of old blood, and there were blades, blunt instruments, and chains on all the walls.

     She feared for the school, which would be a much easier target with only three witches inside. She was terrified to think that something might happen to Nana or Myrtle, and to a lesser degree Madison. She was terrified to think that this could be how it ends, to still be hunted down even after they survived the end of the world. Sometimes she wished her mother was still with them. At least a Supreme could keep the school safe.

     "I know you can't hear me Queenie,” she whispered, not wanting anyone outside to hear her, “But we're in trouble. I don’t know what they did to us, but I can’t use my powers." She started to cry. “I feel so useless. I don’t know what to do.”

     With a loud slam the door flew open, with two new men dragging a blonde girl behind them. She was motionless, likely drugged as Queenie was, and she was bound at the wrists. “Good news,” one of them said as they brought the young woman to her feet, “We found another one. She’ll be some good company for you.” One of them kicked the girl on the way out, and when the door closed again she could hear multiple locks clicking.

     This one seemed fairly young, young enough to have been in her school. There was something, familiar, about her though. Her face was hidden behind her wavy hair, but Cordelia realized her legs were loose enough to turn her over. She tried not to push too hard, but it was difficult to keep control when so much of her body was in pain. Finally, she was able to turn the girl onto her back, and her face came out from behind her hair.

     She almost couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had only seen her once before, on the news, and not for long since soon after there was word of cannibalism in the city following the incident in Raccoon City.

     “Misty Day.”


	6. Bite

    “They’re the same writing.” Lydia said as she looked over Derek’s letter. “And they have that same tone to them. There’s probably a good chance that you’re who you say you are.” “Does that mean I can come with you?” he asked. “I can’t get back to the city on my own.” “As long as we’re clear that we don’t trust you,” Lydia replied, “And that if you fuck up you’re gone, then yes, you’re part of the family now.”

     “So it’ll be the five of us,” said Stiles, “Against, however many of them there are out there.” “How many were taken from your group?” asked Lydia. “It could give us an idea of how many we’re dealing with.” “There were three others,” Derek replied, “All in good shape, it wouldn’t have been an easy fight.” “And none of them were killed?” “No, there wasn’t any blood.” _Just like with Misty_.

     “We’ll need to find more ammo.” Allison suggested. “We’re good on just about everything else other than that.” “Did you find anything down there?” Derek motioned to the old camp. “Looks pretty abandoned.” “Just a lot of water,” Stiles replied, “It was actually a bit of a letdown.” “Then if I might make a suggestion,” Derek made his way to the map, “The airport probably has some stuff we can use. We wanted to hit it up, but the herds have made things difficult.”

     “If it’s the one that moved out here,” said Stiles, “Maybe it’s clear to check it out. What did you guys see?” “A setup like this honestly, but with some more secure looking crates with clear labels saying they had weapons and ammo. Might even be some Kevlar vests of something.” “Then if we’re lucky the highway can take us right to it.” Lydia said as she rolled up the map. “Derek, how about you make yourself useful and help my friends Allison and Scott here pack up the rest of camp?”    

     As the other three got to work, Lydia pulled Stiles aside. "I'm going with Scott and Allison," she whispered, "You'll ride with Derek." “Why?" He didn’t so much whisper as he did stifle a shout. Thankfully, no one looked over at him. "Because,” Lydia pinched his arm, “There’s still something strange going on here, and if he’s lying, we need to make sure he can’t hurt us."

     "So I’m like a decoy?” “No, you’re a deterrent.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was still far enough away. “He’s less likely to attack if he can’t take all of us down at once.” On the one hand, if Derek was plotting something, Stiles was afraid that he would end up dead. On the other hand, he could try finding out what team this guy played for. It would be nice to just fuck around for a bit, to clear his head.

     “All loaded up.” Allison announced. You guys ready?” “Yeah,” Lydia replied, “Derek, you’ll be riding shotgun with Stiles, ok?” “Sure thing,” he said as he climbed to the other side of the jeep, “Let’s get moving.” Lydia gave Stiles a wink before she joined the others, and he felt his stomach knotting. If nothing else, it was nice to have a feeling other than concern and fear for Misty’s life, though that still took up a considerable space in his mind. Hopefully, everything would go well.

 

     "Madison,” Myrtle shouted gain, “Please putt hat thing away." “Not a chance.” she said as she grabbed some candles. “If the two of you won’t stop pestering me over how mean I am, then let’s do something about all of this.” The Ouija board was carved from a piece of oak, with odd symbols and an alphabet in old font burned into its surface. The planchette was cut from the same wood, but three soft pads had been glued to the bottom at some point.

     “This is a dark instrument,” Myrtle continued, “Only kept around as a reminder of where we have come from, not something to be regularly used.” “Well none of us can perform divination, so this at least has the potential to do something.” “Madison,” Nan said as she brought the rest of the candles, “I think maybe we should try something else. This could be bad.” There was no winning here. They wouldn’t let her complain, they wouldn’t let her be bored, they wouldn’t let her try to help.

     “There’s nothing else we can do,” she insisted, “If Cordelia and Queenie are still alive, they need help. And if there’s anyone who could tell a bad spirit from a good one, it’s you, so I need you to help me.” Nan’s face seemed to lighten up, but Myrtle still looked disapproving. “We don’t have any salt,” she said, “So if something goes wrong, you girls will have to dispel it yourselves. I’m far too old for this.” Once Myrtle left the door, Madison motioned for Nan to lock it.

     This room was the last one in the house that still had blinds capable of shutting out all light. As Nan drew the blinds, Madison arranged the candles around the board. With a snap, they were lit, just as the sunlight was drowned out. The room was dark, the board glowing in such a light that it made both of them more nervous than they thought they would be. She knew they had to be at least try to trick themselves into thinking they weren’t scared, otherwise, something dark would definitely come to them.

     “Are we alone?”

 

     "For now," Cordelia whispered, overjoyed that Misty was stirring, "But I don't think it'll last much longer. Do you remember anything?" Misty's eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, but soon she was able to make out the shape of a woman tied up in a chair in front of her. It was exhausting trying to keep her eyes focused.

     "I do," she muttered, "I remember being taken. And I woke up once. But they knocked me out again.” Cordelia could see the bruise on the side of her head, a big, rectangular splotch above her eyebrow. “Shit, did they break your nose?” Cordelia could feel just how out of place it was, and wanted so badly for someone to pop it back into place. “Just a little bit,” she chuckled, “But it’s nice to have some company.”

     “We can’t use our powers,” she moaned, “They did something to us.” “I know,” she heard something from the other side of the door, “But I think I have a plan.” Now she could clearly hear footsteps approaching. “Don’t let them know you’re awake, roll back over and hide your face.” Misty quickly complied, covering her face with her hair seconds before the locks were undone.

     It was the man who had broken her nose. “We have a visitor,” he began, “Someone who thinks that you’re apparently a big deal.” “Well isn’t that sweet.” She was hoping that they weren’t planning to do, whatever it was they came here to do, quite yet. As long as whatever was in them could wear off, they had a chance of escaping.

     “I thought it was too good to be true.” _That voice_. “I didn’t think we’d get so lucky.” He stepped into the doorway. She didn’t want to believe it, but even in the dark room she could tell that it was without a doubt _him_. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Foxx.” She had a horrible feeling that any chance of survival they had just shrunk down to next to nothing. “I’m glad it’s happening this way,” she tried to summon every ounce of bravery she had in her, “We’ll make sure you never hurt any of us ever again.” “You’re not exactly in a position to make threats you know. Though I do have to admit, you’ll be the perfect bait for the rest of the girls. And once we have the rest of you, we’re going to have a nice, big bonfire.

 

     The ride was starting out a bit awkwardly. Derek wasn’t saying anything, just staring out of the window. Stiles was going to assume that he wasn’t hiding something from them, and figured he was worried about finding his friends. He wondered how long he had been with them, and if there was anyone he particularly cared about finding. He wasn’t sure if it was anything he wanted to talk about, but talking would help ease any suspicions.

     “Did you guys live here?” He was surprised that Derek started things. “Yeah,” he quickly replied, “Never really got the chance to leave the city. It’s a bit scary to think about what might be out there. You?” “Only for a few weeks before Raccoon City.” He covered one of his cuts with his hand, and Stiles popped the glove box open. “Wrap yourself up,” he said, “Don’t wanna be a dinner bell for the walkers.”

     “Walkers?” He peeled his shirt off, and Stiles knew if he looked directly at him there was a good chance they would crash. “That’s what you call them?” Derek flinched as he started wrapping a larger cut on his chest, and his whole chest flexed. Stiles could already feel himself getting hard. “Yeah,” he tried shaking the thought away, “I’m trying to get it to catch on, but honestly I feel a bit like Gretchen from _Mean Girls_.”

     “Who?” _Shit_. “Nothing,” he tried recuperating, “It was a movie.” Derek slipped back into his shirt, much to Stiles’ relief. “Tell me about who you were with.” “Don’t you want to know about me?” _Hell yeah I do_. “I get the feeling you guys think I have some secret plan.” “Well in our defense,” Stiles noticed a couple of walkers on the highway, “You came at a pretty bad time.”

     He passed another few, and had to change lanes to avoid hitting another couple ahead of him. “Fair enough,” he replied, “So, what can I do to change that?” _Tell me if you’re into guys? Tell me if you think I’m cute?_ “Tell me if-” “Guys.” He was relieved that Lydia has interrupted them, as he was fairly sure his mind decided to speak one of his thoughts aloud. “There’s a lot of them on the road,” she continued, “We’re going to stop and get the plow mounted.”

     “Copy that,” Stiles grabbed the walkie talkie, “Do you want me to stop?” “No, keep going and let us know how bad it is. If it’s too much for the plow, we’ll have to find another way in.” “Roger.” They were only a quarter mile away from the offramp. There would be a short passage through a more residential zone, and hopefully the herd hadn’t wandered back this far. “Just in case things get rough,” he continued, “Grab the baseball bat in the back.” “Thanks Stiles.”

     He liked hearing him say his name.

 

     Marie lurched forward, pulling herself back into her body. It was strange, looking through his eyes, but it was good to know that the connection was still strong, and that this kid seemed to be very infatuated with Derek. So far, so good. She let it slip to Derek that she saw them going to the power plant, but to wait until it would be less suspicious for that to come to light.

     Meanwhile, she continued to make her way towards it, eager to see how many hunters had taken up residence, and if they had caught any other witches aside from Misty. They were a formidable bunch, but they were very out of their element here. Most of them were California natives, used to the towering forests and mountain faces. Here though, in the bayou, in the swamp?

     Here, she was queen.

 

     As they rounded the corner, they were met with a huge group of the undead that quickly began to shuffle towards them. “Walkers on the first right off the offramp,” he said as he started to back up, “About thirty or so.” “Can you move around them?” Scott asked. “Are you safe?” “I think we can,” Stiles said as tried looking past the group, “I’ll let you know how things go.”

     “Stiles.” Derek threw his foot onto the brake, and directed him to the others that had gathered behind them. “Shit,” he said as he tried looking through the group, “Do you think we can make it through?” “Go on the sidewalk,” Derek suggested, “They’re mostly in the streets, you’ll have no problem.” It was going to be a tight squeeze, between them and the brick fences, but the alternative was far less preferable.

     He backed up a little further, hitting some of the ones behind them, and slammed on the accelerator. He was going to have a few more dents on his bumper, but it added character. The first one they hit was dense, sounding like a boulder as it was thrown under the car. It was a bumpy ride as they went up on the sidewalk, but they were getting through the worst of it, their bodies bouncing off the side of the car or smacking against the windows.

     As they made another turn towards the airport, just a quarter mile out and very plainly in sight, they were met with a full-sized herd already shuffling towards them. “Hey guys,” he radioed in, “There’s more on the main road to the airport. Can’t say if there’s anything beyond that, but I have to turn back.” “Roger, get out of there Stiles.”

     The way behind them was becoming crowded, but anything was better than what laid ahead. He turned his jeep around as fast as he could, their cloudy, rotten eyes clearly visible in his rear-view mirror, and floored it up another street that was less dense. He wondered if he could find a way around them, which would make life a lot easier for everyone, but it looked like the herd was taking up every new street, and he was continually slamming into them.

     Eventually he realized the road further ahead was blocked by a pile of cars, and he made a quick right. Luckily, it seemed as though they finally made their way around, but they would definitely follow all the noise, so he decided to keep driving. There were about a dozen of them to the right when he noticed a massive pothole in the road, easily deep enough to ruin his tires and the front end of the car. He had to swing right, the sidewalk to the left being blocked by a collapsed building, and the group was smashed between his car and a brick wall.

     He heard one of his windows break open, followed by a blood-curdling scream. He looked over to see a walker digging its teeth into Derek’s arm, its hands holding his head as it chewed on him. “No!” He ripped the machete from his side and swung it down on the walker’s head, cleaving on the way down to the nose before ripping it back out, letting it tumble out of the car and beneath the wheels.

     “I’m so sorry Derek,” he drove through a wooden fence ahead of him, sending them into a backyard clear of the walkers, “Tie your arm up, we have to amputate!” “You’re not cutting my arm off!” He was used to hearing that as a first response. No one ever wanted to give up their arm or their leg, but at least cutting it off gave them a chance. Not giving him time to react, Stiles tore the sleeve from his shirt and started wrapping it right where Derek’s arm met his shoulder.

     The bite looked like someone took a raw steak and dropped it halfway down a garbage disposal, a bright streak of bone shining through it all. Stiles was surprised Derek could even move his fingers, and more surprised as he shoved him back into the seat and kicked the door open. The color was draining from his face as he stumbled out, and Stiles quickly ran to the other side, brandishing Misty’s machete and wondering how the hell he was going to cauterize it.

     “You’ll die if I don’t do this,” he began, “I’m really sorry, but if we don’t-” Derek keeled over as he started hacking, a few black droplets falling from his lips. Stiles dropped the machete and drew his gun. Derek continued to cough, more and more droplets of what looked like oil falling from his mouth. This wasn’t how the infection went, but something was clearly happening to him.

     He rose his head, looking right into Stiles’ eyes as a thick, disgusting black blob rose in his mouth. He sounded like he was choking, and he was so pale the sun was starting to reflect off of him. Stiles could only watch with horror as he fell to his hands and knees, hacking and coughing as the blob pushed against the back of his teeth.

    Suddenly it popped, spraying the black sludge all and completely removing itself from Derek’s mouth. That was when Stiles realized that the bite was sealing itself, the gnarled flesh pulling itself back to together as his skin materialized over the wound. The color returned to his skin as the last droplets fell from his mouth, and he shakily stood upright.

     “What, the, fuck?”


	7. Divination

          There’s probably a million things that could be asked, or said, after seeing something like that. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time. They parked as though nothing had happened, on the other side of a barricade a few hundred feet from the main entrance to the terminal. There were long dead bodies all over the ground, a few in military garb, but none that could get up and attack. The others were on their way, and Derek gave only one specific request.

          “Please, don’t tell them.”

          He knew he should, especially since this would somewhat confirm Lydia’s suspicions, but, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Derek grabbed him, and made the most intense eye contact humanly possible, and he looked terrified. He couldn’t do anything but nod his head, and all the dread seemed to leave Derek’s face.

          For a few minutes they sat in silence in the car, waiting for the others to arrive. It was silent, but Stiles kept glancing over at him. The color was returning to his face, and with that, there was no evidence that anything had happened. Well, there were some patches of hair missing on his arm now, but it wasn’t noticeable unless you really looked at it. And even if one of the others did, what would it matter?

          Finally, he could hear the squeaky, scraping sound of the truck pulling up. “Stiles,” Derek grabbed his arm, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know the moment we’re alone, alright?” _Alone?_ He would’ve been a bit more excited about that about an hour ago. What if he wanted to get him alone, and then pick them off one by one? He didn’t need anything to gain, but if he did, all the more reason to be worried.

          It had been a while since he had to kill someone, but he knew he could if there was no other choice. “Don’t worry,” he replied as he hopped out of the car, “Whatever it was that happened, your secret is safe with me.”

          “What a shithole,” Lydia said as she hopped out, “Depressing as hell too.” “That’s a bit of an understatement,” Allison added, “Remember the executions?” The blood stains were still on the wall, though the bodies were long gone. Taken away for testing, the news reports said, to see if an autopsy could reveal anything. How could they have shown those people die on live television? Everything became so morbid so fast. And everyone was watching.

          They were surrounded by old cars and roadblocks, so their vehicles didn’t really stand out too much. Stiles’ jeep had dirt at least a quarter inch thick in some spots, and the truck looked like a patchwork of a car more than anything else. Ordinarily she would suggest two of them stay with the cars, but without Misty, Lydia thought it might be worth it for all of them to go inside.

          “One team of two and one of three,” she said, “Keep it tight, walkies may lose range inside there, and we meet back out here in no more than ninety minutes.” There were moans echoing from somewhere nearby, but it didn’t seem to be coming from the airport. “Maybe an hour,” she continued, “Move fast but do it quietly, ok? And I say, for teams, let’s stick to how we showed up.”

 

     She knew of him. Everyone did. Part of being a witch meant learning about the people who wanted to wipe you out, to see your kind driven to extinction. Mr. Argent was one of the worst, one of the most recent additions to a long line of hunters, dedicated primarily to hunting shapeshifters, but never thinking themselves above a witch hunt. His father used to be the one to fear, but after he was taken out Chris took up the task of becoming an equally ruthless hunter. Of course, it was too much to think Beacon Hills could keep them in one place forever. But what changed?

          “For the last time,” she shouted as she was raised into the air, “There aren’t any others.” He continued to ignore her, to no surprise, and she was slowly hoisted over the dark, wretched pool. He had placed a mask over her face, as well as Misty’s, before he chained them up, and she could still smell the rot and decay. She had an idea of what they might be hovering over, but she hoped she might be wrong.

          “The two of you wouldn’t be here if that was true.” He secured the handle and walked to the edge of the pool. He too had a mask on, but this one was covering his eyes instead of just the bottom half of his face. “We don’t have enough firepower to get through to the school, but, there’s a good chance your students will come looking for you.” He looked at Misty, and she was worried he might do something more to her. So far she was doing a good job at staying “unconscious,” but Argent wasn’t an amateur.

          “As for her,” he continued, “She’s a bonus. We thought she was taken care of after what she did to her father, but looking back, that was a bit naïve of me to think.” _Terrible tragedy_ , the anchors were almost relieved to be reporting on something other than Raccoon City and the spread of disturbing rumors, _Out of the St. Bernard Parish, where a teenage girl has been found burned to death, allegedly after murdering her own father with a machete. We now turn to Kim Parker on the scene, Kim?_

“She’s a sound sleeper,” he said as he started to walk away, “But just to be safe, I’ll be back soon with another dose.” There weren’t any others around, and the room was quite spacious. However, the pools took up quite a bit of space. They couldn’t swing across, but, maybe they could swim through it? But if it was their blood, and if it was fermenting for very long, that could be suicide. “Try not to fall in.” he shouted from the door on the far side of the room. “If you do, I’d be surprised if the skin didn’t peel off your bodies. And for now, I need the two of you alive and well.”

          She waited a few minutes before getting Misty’s attention. They could hear footsteps echoing, but they were very faint and never seemed to approach the two of them. “It’s walker blood,” Misty whispered, “Isn’t it?” “That’s what you call them?” It had a certain ring to it. “No matter, yes, so, you’re going to have to concentrate for this.” “For what?” She didn’t know what powers Misty had, aside from resurgence, but such a talented young girl should have more than one gift.

          Even if it was only enough to set one of them free, she could put up a fight.

          “I want to test you, in a way. I want to see if you can perform the act of telekinesis.”

 

     “Come on, come on.” The boat was covered in thick vines, but it was in a decent enough condition. It must’ve been used somewhat recently. Whoever it was that went after the witch, they didn’t do a good job at hiding their tracks. She could see the light on their boat cut through the new river and go all the way up to the power plant. She passed it along to Derek, and at the first opportunity, he would try to push them towards the place.

          “God dammit!” Pulling her hand away from the vines, a thorn came with her, embedded deep in her palm. She was wishing she had a better knife than the dagger, which was evidently shit at cutting through these plants. “I really don’t have time for this.” Proper healing would have to wait until she was floating in the boat, but there were plenty of quick fixes to stop the pain and bleeding. She had a few more vials of a special salve, and it would be enough to keep the scent of her blood down.

          As the pain drained away, she heard a weak wheezing coming from behind her. “Great.” She turned around to see a walker, the face all but rotted away and rib cage sticking out of a torn dress. “Honey, you've had better days.” For this, she didn’t mind getting it dirty. A quick swipe up, and another one going the other way, and her head tumbled off her shoulders.

          “Again with this?” She felt the, tugging, in her head again, and the dull pain that stretched across her forehead. It was a good thing, that he had such a strong will, since it made it all the easier to influence him once she got past it. However, it also meant she had to work harder every now and then to keep him in line. Especially when certain urges came up, or when his powers were used.

          She would’ve preferred if the one kid hadn’t seen him get bitten, but it could still work to her advantage, if she played her cards right. She was lucky that he was already crushing. It would be fun to play along with that, but it might also be easier to pick them off one by one and take what they had. It was a great opportunity to armor up and get out of the city as soon as all this business was taken care of.

 

          Some things weren’t all that surprising to see. Most people had an idea of what was happening in the city, even towards the end. The airport was, of course, the first place to get hit, and the biggest focus on the news channels for at least a month, even after the mayor was killed and parishes were going up in flames. The military had a more proper evacuation, but they still left a lot behind, just like the camp. Looters were kept away by the herds that popped up inside, but some were brave enough to risk it. Hopefully very few stuck around.

          It was dark, as expected, but the ceiling had collapsed in large areas, and the sunlight illuminated scenes of carnage, massacre, and destruction. He hated the way flashlights lit up places like this. It was a more poignant reminder that he was living through an actual horror movie. He wasn’t sure about handing Derek a gun, but it felt good having someone who maybe couldn’t die, or at least get infected, watching his back.

          “Where to?” Derek whispered. “You’re leading the way, right?” Both excellent questions. He already had a swelling feeling in his chest, and a healthy sprinkling of dread to top it off. But, fuck it, he might as well try to impress Derek. Or at least convince himself that he was strong enough to lead like this.

          “We’ll check the gates in terminal two.” He raised his voice a little, not wanting to whisper too softly. “The original quarantine area was bolstered by an armed barricade. Hopefully they left something behind.” Fortunately, terminal two wasn’t far, but it would still require an unpleasant trek through the darker patches of the building. Before he took more than a few steps, Derek grabbed his arm.

          “Let me go first,” he began, “If anything leaps out at us, it’ll mean a lot less if it bites me.” He couldn’t argue with that, though there was a sense of dread that came with being behind someone in a place like this. He wanted to wrap his arms around Derek’s waist, but that would likely be a bit too direct.

          “Could you tell me how you do that?” Not that that was very subtle.

          “It’s not a conscious thing.” Derek carefully stepped over a small group of corpses, and once he was sure they were dead, motioned for Stiles to follow him. “It just happens. And believe me, you wouldn’t want to be like me.” _Like me?_ “What does that mean?” Derek stiffed up and stopped. Stiles didn’t hear anything, but he _was_ a bit distracted. That was dangerous, and he needed to get his shit together.

          “We’re clear,” Derek said as he started walking, “And to answer your question, you’d rather not know. Just don’t worry about it, I’m not out to get you.” Not a reassuring answer, but, somehow, not an excuse to be wildly suspicious. Definitely not enough to occupy too much thought. He had to keep his eye out. Derek may not trigger everything lurking in the shadows, and that was assuming there was only the undead in this place. He couldn’t exactly imagine many people taking up residence, but at the same time, that could be a perfect excuse to stay in here. No one would expect it, and it would provide you with the perfect means of ambushing some hapless teenagers wandering through, trying to save their friend and some stranger’s friends.

          “Do you really think we’ll find something in here?” It was getting darker, and Derek’s back was only illuminated by Stiles’ flashlight. “Seems like someone else might’ve had this idea.” “Hopefully not,” Stiles replied, “It would make life a bit easier, if that’s so much to ask for.” Derek chuckled, but the way it echoed in the darkness sent a chill down Stiles’ spine. “You all really seem to like that word,” he said as they passed through a cone of sunlight, “ _Hopefully_.” “Well things can’t get too much worse,” he held his breath as they stepped over a smaller body with its chest pried open, “So maybe hoping isn’t such a bad idea anymore. It has to start getting better at some point, right?”

 

          “I still think I should try it first.” Madison insisted. “I mean, Nan? If anyone here is going to end up being the Supreme, it’ll be me.” “I’m just as powerful as you are,” Nan replied, “Probably even _more_ than you.” “Enough of this,” Myrtle rubbed her temples, “You’ll break her concentration and give me a migraine.” The stones were all in a small, silver cup, sitting on the table before the three of them.

          “Nan is innately gifted with the more intimate powers of the mind,” Myrtle began, “Powers that can grant her information and insight others do not have. Madison, your power is more with the physical realm, at least that’s how it seems to be right now.” “This is because of the Ouija board, isn’t it?” Madison knew she could’ve gotten something if the other two weren’t so speculative and paranoid. She wasn’t about to be one upped by Nan.

          “Later,” Myrtle patted Madison on the head, “Just be patient for now. As for you Nan, I want you to divine the location of their clothing, as seeking people is a bit trickier and would require more witches than are currently in this house. For Cordelia, the cream blouse given to her by me on her last birthday. For Queenie, the Fleetwood Mac shirt she pulled from one of the abandoned closets.”

          Nan drew a deep breath, and clasped the cup firmly in her hands. She knew she could do this. She could hear the thoughts around, Madison’s doubts and Myrtle’s hopes, and she wished she could tune it all out. If things were quiet, she could do so much more. But she made it this far with all the noise. She would go even further, despite the noise. Maybe she could even be the best that a witch could be.

          With another deep breath she flipped the cup over, pouring the stones onto the table. As they clattered and fell into place, she stretched her hands out over them. A strange sensation, beginning in her fingertips and travelling up to her eyes, filled her, and suddenly, she was no longer looking at the stones. She was no longer looking inside the room. She was looking at the entire city.

  

          The tented area was a lot like the quarantine camp. Mostly trash, most of it clearly in a severe state of decay and uselessness. Still, they had to check it out. Diamonds in the rough, a needle in the haystack, whichever metaphor one preferred, it was worth it to really go through places like this. When they were abandoned, or when the first people came through searching, things were lost, dropped, covered up, and forgotten. Not much would remain, but it would be rewarding enough to find it.

          “I’m going to check the luggage cart,” Lydia announced as she was heading for the flap of the tent, “I need to find some clothes.” Allison and Scott were not amused. “I’m not valuing clothes over Misty,” she continued, “But I want something that can fit me, maybe even something that doesn’t permanently smell like death. I’ll be back soon, don’t you worry.” It wasn’t like she was going off to take a nap. She needed something new, more or less.

          “It’s not a bad idea,” Scott said as she left the tent, “I could honestly go for some new clothes too.” “I hear that,” Allison replied, “But it’d be nice to go clothes shopping with _everyone_.” _And not have to worry about whether another one of our friends is dead._ It wasn’t the first time someone had been taken, but, they understood how New Orleans worked. It was easier to stay away from those types of people, but now, apparently, they were getting more aggressive. They had to leave, when this was all said and done.

          “Babe?” “What?” She had to stay focused. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” “What about?” “About a lot,” she began, “Like, maybe we should’ve left this city a long time ago. Maybe we should’ve stayed away from the bayou. Maybe we shouldn’t have been screwing around, because, maybe it would’ve made a difference, and Misty could’ve-”

          “Hey.” She didn’t realize she was crying. They weren’t big tears, just, little streaks on her cheeks. Scott wiped them away before he pulled her in for a hug. There, she really started to cry. She felt terrible, responsible somehow. “If we weren’t,” she continued, “Maybe, I don’t know, we could’ve gotten to her. Maybe we would’ve heard something, maybe Misty would still be with us.” “We don’t know that,” he calmly replied, “It won’t do any good blaming ourselves. So, let’s see if we can find anything here that’ll help us get her back, ok?”

 

          “Do you smell that?” “That depends.” The stench of decay was very prominent in the air, and it was the only thing that was really standing out. The puddles of water, the overgrowth, nothing else could cut through that blanket. “What do you smell?” Derek’s nose twitched a couple of times. “Smoke. Fresh smoke.” That was perhaps one of the worst things he could’ve said. There were so many things smoke could mean. Was it a campfire, which meant there were people here? Was it a pile of bodies, burned as an effort to begin cleanup, which meant there were people here? Or was it a pyre, which, again, meant there were people here.

          _Someone_ was here.

          “Any idea where it’s coming from?” Or, maybe if he could hear anything? Whatever he really was, he clearly had heightened senses, and that really wasn’t a bad thing. “From up ahead,” Stiles noticed Derek was walking a bit faster now, “And, it’s not a campfire.” “Derek,” it was turning into a light jog now, “Slow down, ok? If someone’s there we don’t want to-”

          Without another word, he broke into a sprint, leaving Stiles in the dark as he disappeared down the darker patches of the terminal. He could hear his footsteps slamming against bodies and debris, echoing through the hallway and destroying any element of stealth they might’ve had, and Stiles was trying to decide whether he would be safer on his own or trying to run after this man. Then again, if he could catch up to him, he could stop things from getting any worse.

          “Derek!” Running. Running wasn’t fun, especially in the dark. Especially when there was something else in the darkness. Not Derek, something softer, something clumsier, something undead. As he shined his flashlight on the ground he saw one of the corpses spring to life, chest heaving up as its legs launched the body forward, arms outstretched and mouth already biting at him.

          He slipped as he tried to ready his weapon, hitting his head against the ground as the darkness become blurry, the light twisting about as he struggled to steady his vision. He waved the flashlight around, just in time to see the walker falling on top of him. He couldn’t draw his gun, he couldn’t reach for a knife, he could roll out of the way, but then it would be a scramble to get back on his feet. Or, maybe it could be a little easier.

          Its arms became rigid as they landed on either side of his head, and it threw its head back before it dove towards his throat. Stiles thrust the flashlight into its skull, the softened bone cracking as it broke through the eye socket sliding deeper inside as the body went lifeless, still falling on top of him, but without the threat of death or infection.

          The blood began to ooze onto the flashlight, droplets falling on his shoulder as he struggled to move the walker off him. The skin felt so fragile, the body so bloated and, squishy, that he was expecting it to pop like a gory water balloon. Fortunately, no such graphic display happened, and there didn’t seem to be any other unexpected guests around him. He struggled to his feet before trying to catch his breath, not wanting to breath in whatever funk might’ve been hanging so low to the ground and within that rotting body.

          “Derek!”

          He was running down the path they had already set for themselves, and seeing as how there was more sunlight in that direction, he ran that way as well. Soon enough he noticed a shadow in the opening to a staff lounge. He was about to call out to him when he covered his mouth, realizing this may not be Derek. He crouched and slowly inched his way towards the figure, a surge of anger and relief filling him when he realized that it was indeed the asshole who left him with a walker in the dark.

          “What the hell man?” He cared a little less about giving themselves away if it meant being able to vent for a quick minute. “Derek, I almost died, what the hell-” Nothing. Derek was just standing there. He didn’t look scared, or confused, just, contemplative. He also realized that his eyes were fixated on something across the room. He noticed the smell first.

  

          “I need more stones.” Nan spoke as if she was in a trance, and Myrtle’s face was radiating with joy. “They’re not in the city.” She handed her another cup, and in a mechanical motion Nan spilled them onto the other end of the table, the two piles meeting as stones bounced and slid off each other.

 

          The inside of the lounge had been stained from smoke. The scent lingering on the walls was that unmistakable, acrid stink of burnt hair and flesh, which even now seemed as recent and fresh as ever. There were boxes of ammunition and discarded firearms all over the floor, and the excitement of this discovery almost made him oblivious to the three long, dark pillars at the far end of the room, illuminated by a few streaks of sunlight which broke through the barricaded windows.

 

          “She’s almost got it.” Madison knew she had to admit defeat. Still, her time would come. This was simple, she told herself, just a game of hide and seek if one really got down to the bare bones of it. Nan could have this moment.

 

          Three wooden poles, towering out of a pile of ash and still clearly discernable bags and chairs. On each one, about two thirds of the way up and almost touching the ceiling, was a corpse. They were bound with barbed wire, their faces locked in a twisted expression of agony. Whoever they were, they had been alive when this happened.

 

          “I found them. Myrtle, they’re in trouble.”


	8. First of Many

          He barely heard the footsteps coming when Derek covered his mouth and pulled him behind the bar counter. His first reaction was to headbutt him and demand an explanation, but a quick “Shhh” reminded him that whoever was coming was probably the same person, or people, who put those poor sons of bitches up on the poles. And burned them alive.

          The monsters out in the swamps fit the profile, and with the creeping shoreline and widening rivers, this may have easily been within their grasp.

          He could hear two people walk into the room, the all too familiar sound of bones clattering against each other accompanying their footsteps. They didn’t say anything, which made the situation even more terrifying. Had they been following them this whole time? Did they hear the gunshots? Derek's ears twitched with each footstep, and Stiles noticed he was blinking very rapidly, almost like a dog when someone was snapping their fingers by its ears.

          He couldn’t help but spend a couple seconds enjoying how close Derek was to him. There was a good chance they could die right here, but wouldn’t that be more of a reason to enjoy this? His mind snapped back when, judging from the way their footsteps trailed away before circling back around, he realized they were sweeping the room. The bar was enclosed, and it wasn’t long enough to lead to the other opening in the lounge. They wouldn’t be able to stay hidden much longer.

          They may have the element of surprise, but if they missed, it could also mean the end of them. Unless Derek couldn’t die. Could that be possible?

 

          Lydia's eyes lit up. “Finally,” she sighed in relief, “Something that isn’t oversized or just, straight up ugly.” The purple tank top, with a black outline of the Eiffel Tower, was the only decent top she could find in all the luggage. She slipped it over her shoulders, and it hugged her body very comfortably. Carefully, she propped up a mirror she found in one of the other bags to appreciate the entire look. Blue jeans, a white belt, black boots, and now a red tank top that showed off just enough of her bra.

          “Sweet, simple, to the point.” She struck a pose, her fingers shaped like a gun and a pout on her face. “I'm the hottest last thing you'll ever see.” She scowled. Something was wrong. She pulled her hair back to a pony tail, wrapping a faded and weathered hair tie around it. Stray locks of hair fell gracefully around the sides of her head. “Perfect.”

          It was never a bad thing, she believed, to try to do something every now and then that could make you feel like things were normal. She knew how arbitrary that word was, and how nothing could ever be “normal” as it was ever again. Still, trying on clothes, posing in a mirror? It was one part of her old life that she enjoyed, and something that she tried to preserve. Change was fine, but, maybe not everything had to change.

 

          “Not in here.” “Nowhere else they could be. Look around.”

          They spoke so clumsily, like they were reading a script, or they were talking for the first time in their lives. It was impressive how fast things could fall apart. How little time it took for people to resort to killing and cannibalism as a way of life. It was as if there were people waiting on the world to one day fall apart so they could be their true selves. Their true, psychotic, sociopathic selves. Unfortunately, there were enough in New Orleans to make a whole community.

          He always wondered if there were many others like them, in the rest of the world. And, if there were, what was really left of humanity that could be worth saving.

          In the moment though, the immediate danger kept him very much rooted in the present. If there were only two of them, at least in this area right here, they could handle it. The only question was, who would shoot first?

          He turned to Derek, hoping he would take the initiative, and he wasn’t disappointed. His gun was already drawn, and he leaned in close to Stiles, not wanting to risk the others hearing them. “I have a plan,” his breath was so warm, and he could feel his lips grazing his ear, “But you’re not going to like it.” Too afraid to say anything, Stiles nodded.

          “Get their attention,” his heart sank, “And once they see you, I’ll shoot.” He shot Derek a furious glare, shaking his head back and forth in the fiercest silent protest he could manage. Derek held his chin, stopping the shaking just as he was starting to get a little dizzy and nauseous. “I won’t let them kill you,” he continued, “But this is the best way to deal with this.”

          It sounded like a lie, but given how pressed for time they were, he didn’t have much time to protest. If they did kill him, he decided he would haunt Derek for the rest of his life. In that event, it would be even better if he was immortal.

          It took an incredible amount of effort to peek over the counter, and luckily, their backs were facing him. They were looking underneath furniture, and around the pyre, mumbling back and forth as they did. He ducked back down and crawled to the opening on the other end. There wasn’t much on the ground that he could stumble over, or use to make a sound, but if nothing else, he could always drag his shoe or slam against the counter.

          He decided to try talking himself down, convince himself that nothing bad could happen. They wouldn’t just kill him. He was good enough to eat. He wasn’t very built, but he wasn’t terribly scrawny. And he would taste great if they cooked him slowly over a nice, hot fire. No, there was no way they’d let him go.

          He reached the end of the counter, and the open space broke the strange confidence he had distilled in himself. Now it was a reality, not something he could imagine doing. How was he going to do it? He could just keep crawling, wait for them to see him. He required the least amount of effort, and he could avoid eye contact.

          On the other hand, they might just shoot him as he, in their eyes, tried to sneak away.

          “If you promise not to kill me,” his voice echoed in the room, “I’ll tell you where the others are.”

          He glanced back at Derek, who gave a thumbs up as he readied his weapon. This was followed by a long silence, an unbearable period of torment when not even their footsteps could be heard. If any positive could be gleaned from this in the moment, it was that they didn’t decide to kill him outright.

          “Slow,” one of them said, barely above a whisper and barely audible from where he was, “Hands up.”

          His hands were trembling as he rose from the ground. He wouldn’t be surprised if they tried shooting the moment his head had cleared the countertop. It was all up to Derek to make sure that wouldn’t happen.

          Derek, a complete stranger.

          The two men came into view, their faces hidden behind animal hides and layer upon layer of filth. Bones, blood, hair, overgrown nails, dirty knives. And guns. Nothing like what he had seen before, rusty things made from pipes and wooden blocks. Scrap weapons. Even if the shot didn’t kill you, the metal poisoning probably would.

          One of them ripped a rifle from his holster, and Stiles ducked down as a shot bounced off the wall behind him. He slipped and fell onto his back, rolling over just as he saw Derek leap onto the countertop, and then open fire on the other men.

 

          “I'm still not very enthusiastic about this arrangement.” said Myrtle. “Believe me when I say no one here could care more about Cordelia or be more worried about Queenie than I, but this?” Madison helped Nan fasten a Kevlar vest to her chest, and she clipped the holsters to her thighs. She herself finished her outfit by sliding a pair of long, black gloves over her arms and by tying her hair into a tight ponytail.

          “We're witches,” Nan replied, “If we don't fight, we die. Isn't that how it's always been?” “Most of the time we got burned,” Madison added, “And if I had to guess, these guys are looking to continue that.”

          “But suppose this place comes under siege,” Myrtle began, “Here, our home and shelter. I cannot protect myself from the hunters. If I hide, they will burn this place to the ground.” Nan could hear everything Myrtle wanted to say, but she held almost all of it back. She was so afraid that she wouldn’t be here when they got back. If they got back.

          “You've got Spalding.” Madison tossed the silent man a handgun, catching him off-guard. She didn’t put in much effort, but with a small tap to the head he collapsed. “As a maybe human shield,” she continued, “Or, an amusing distraction. I know you don’t want to be stuck here with me, and we need Nan to find these assholes, as much as I hate admitting that.” “All tensions aside I am concerned for you Madison. You and Nan are powerful witches.”

          “That's why we have to go.” Nan insisted. “Cordelia is the only reason we're alive. If it wasn't for this school, we'd all be dead. If I wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have the powers we all do. Queenie's my friend, and Madison, you two fight, but you know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you let her die.” “That's a little dramatic,” she scoffed, “But at the very least, we entertain each other.”

          “Then the most I can do is wish you girls luck.” Myrtle motioned for them to come closer to her. She stretched her arms around the girls and hugged them, wondering if she would have the chance to do this again. “With witches like you, our kind just might survive this nightmare.” She could see the undead hordes beyond their gate. “But if you die-” “We'll come back,” Nan said as she pulled away, “I promise.” “I might die right now if you keep smothering us.” Madison muttered. Myrtle released them and patted their shoulders.

          They were an odd pair, to say the least, but their power was undeniable. One of them might even be the next Supreme. She would much prefer if it was one over the other though.

          “Stay safe you two. I beg you.”

 

          “Stiles!” She heard his voice, screaming about something, and came running. The gunshots echoed through the terminal, and she knew Scott and Allison might not be too far behind her. It was a good sign that Stiles was alive, but, what if he wasn’t alone? She pushed herself to run faster as she saw shadows within a lounge, and her finger was already flexing on the trigger.

          She wasn’t about to lose anyone else. If they were waiting for her, she’d drop down and slide, blasting their kneecaps and flooring anyone who tried to stop her.

          “Stiles, are you-”

          She wasn’t expecting the mess she ran into. Stiles was fine, as was Derek, and neither seemed to have any injuries. In one part of the room though, there was a pyre, with bodies brought up on spikes burnt to a crisp. Then, in front of the two boys, were two more bodies, but bearing the iconic look of the savages from the bayous.

          She couldn’t see their faces, but blood was flowing from where she assumed they once were.

          “Good to see you had it handled,” she made her way to the bar, leaning on the countertop closest to Stiles, “Care to make a girl a drink?” His heart was still racing, but he managed to force out a laugh. “I might need one first,” he said as he searched the cabinets for a bottle, if such a thing might still be left behind, “I was the bait in this plan.”

          “He’s good at it,” Derek joked, “Has he had much practice.” “A little,” Lydia winked as she crossed to the pyre, “But, he usually puts up a fight.” The bodies reeked, as they usually did, but the barbed wire was an especially disturbing touch. Something she hadn’t actually seen before. New forms of sadism.

          “How’re Scott and Allison?” Stiles searched for his radio. “Are they coming?” “I assume so.” She grabbed the wire between two of the barbs. It was tightly bound around him, whoever he used to be, and she could see it digging into his flesh. Maybe even into his bone. “Who do you think they were?”

          “Maybe someone like us,” Derek found Stiles’ radio and tossed it to him, “Looking for some weapons, some ammo, who fell into an ambush.” “And were tortured and burned like witches.” A chunk of skin slid off the body as she gave the wire another tug, and it disintegrated on her hands as she backed away.

          “I take it you guys didn’t find anything?”

          Derek turned one of the bodies over, pulling one of the junk guns from a holster.

          “Not unless you want one of these.” He tossed it to Lydia, a screw coming loose as she grabbed it by the handle. It had a beaten-up cylinder, but the bullets inside seemed to be professionally made. Then again, bullets were a bit trickier than a gun, shitty as it may be. She dropped it, the handle cracking and the barrel bending as it bounced a few times.

          “Go faster!”

          More were coming. Two, no, three more. Derek and Stiles jumped in front of her, their guns drawn as they crouched on either side of the entrance, but she had her own idea. Something, unnecessarily risky, but she was feeling very confident in her new outfit, and the brewing anger at the thought of the poor people on the poles having to suffer like they did driving her over the edge.

          “Hide behind the counter.” She pulled her top off, carefully handing it to Derek since he seemed to be the cleaner one of the two. “If things don’t sound like they’re working out, please come save me.” She undid the clasp on her back, and the straps hung loosely on her shoulders. “Otherwise, no peeking. Also, give me your pistol.”

          These people were monsters, but it was easier to take advantage of some of their more primal urges. It was a rather dangerous plan, since they likely wouldn’t hesitate to jump on her. Even if Derek and Stiles stepped in, there was the chance they could do something to her. She didn’t need to do this, and she knew this may not be the best course of action given how pressed for time they might be.

          Unfortunately for them, she didn’t care, and she let the bra slide off her arms, catching it in her hands; whatever was on the floor, she wasn’t about to let it stain her clothes. She slid the pistol into her pocket just as they rounded the corner.

          It was indeed three men, each their own unique variant of savage and disturbing. One of them had a human skull tied to his waist, with two hands bouncing against his thigh as they came to a stop. She must’ve been quite the sight. She knew she looked stunning, and even if she didn’t, her tits were certainly enough to make up for it.

          One of them grunted and pointed behind her, where their two friends were still very clearly laid out.

          “They got a bit too rough.” She slowly drew the weapon, which made all but the man with the skull nervous. “It’s nothing personal. But, I’m willing to make it up to you.” She ran the barrel down her chest, licking her lips as she took a few steps towards them.

          Skull quickly raised his hand to stop her.

          “Drop the weapon.” He was either very old or a heavy smoker; his voice sounded like he was breathing sawdust. “Then, we take your offer.”

          _Oh, how eager they are_. She tied her bra to one of her belt loops and raised her hands, the gun still in the right one. They were already stripping some of the hide and bones from their waists, and one even unzipped himself.

          “I hope you’re ready.”

          She dropped the gun, and Skull’s men ran towards her. Once it passed her elbow she dropped to the floor, fast enough so the men in front of her only had time to stumbled as they reached for their guns. She caught the gun and hit the floor as the started shooting, their bullets racing overhead as she took aim.

          One, two, three, four.

          They all fell to the ground in a heavy thud, clutching their blown-out knees and screaming for help. Having caused enough of a scene already, she put another two rounds in their heads, but being merciful with skull and blowing out his other kneecap. As she put her bra back on, Derek and Stiles came out of hiding.

          “Nice one,” Derek handed her her shirt, “But why keep this one alive?” “I want to know why he burned those people.” She kicked his knees, a loud crack following as his leg swung out, blood gushing as he screamed again. Derek covered his mouth with his hand, and Lydia gave him another kick. “Why? What did they do to you? Why did you kill them?”

          There was terror in his eyes, but they were accompanied by a fiery rage. Perhaps he was aghast that these kids somehow got the better of him. All the same, when Derek removed his hand, his lips parted.

          “They bargained,” he stuttered through coughing fits, “They, they gave us many things, for their lives.”

          “Hold on,” Marie peered through Derek’s eyes, “What do you mean? Who bargained?”

          “Hunters,” he replied, “They call themselves hunters, but they do not look the part. They are weak, but they had what we wanted. Their lives,” he pointed at the burnt bodies, “Were not that valuable.” “You’ve got a sophisticated tongue,” Lydia scoffed, “I wonder how important you are to them.”

          “We are strong.” He gritted his teeth. “If I fall, they will go on.” “Probable,” Derek pulled a tooth from Skull’s belt, “But, I think you’ve said enough.”

 

          “Just keep breathing.”

          So far, so good. Incredibly stressful, and terrifying, but Misty was slowly moving her across the pool to safety. It was difficult at first, to get her in the proper mindset to actually make an attempt like this, but once she got going, she was a natural. The smell was repulsive, and she was worried that they might somehow already be infected. Whatever happened when these bodies began to rot couldn’t have been healthy to breathe in.

          Their plan wasn’t a very solid one, but it was better than waiting for something to happen.

          Fifty feet to go.

          It was a different stress than the one she felt when she brought birds and other animals back to life. It was sharper, but more spread out, and she could feel her nose trembling. All in all, though, she felt on top of the world. This was a whole new aspect of being able to change things with her mind.

          “Misty?”

          She quickly raised Cordelia up a little higher, not even realizing she had begun to dip.

          “I’m sorry,” she gave her a little push, not wanting to drop her best chance of escaping, and one of the only people who knew what it was like to be her, “This is all very new. And this is a bit of a stressful trial.”

          Cordelia laughed as he feet finally passed over to solid ground.

          “You’ve done amazing.” She felt her grip release, and she carefully landed to make as little noise as possible. “Now, try to break my restraints.” This was a more delicate task, but something worth trying. If old spy movies had taught her anything, it was that there was always a way out of your chains. So, there was nothing to lose.

          She could hear and feel the locks shaking, but there was no crack or release.

          “I’m sorry,” she could see the blood dripping from Misty’s nose, “I don’t think I can do it.” “Don’t stress yourself.” Cordelia saw a shadow pass on the other side of the door Mr. Argent left through, but no one came inside. “Just stay calm, I’ll get you down.”

          When she grabbed the handle, she realized that it evidently wasn’t very secure. Misty fell a few feet, and if she didn’t remember where they were, she would’ve screamed.

          “I’m so sorry.” She started cranking, which made more noise than she would’ve liked, but they still seemed to be in the clear. “No problem,” Misty tried her best to keep the blood out of her mouth, which was very difficult with her hair in her face and her hands tied up, “Just promise you’ll wipe my nose once I’m down there.”

          The lever came to a halt just as she reached the edge of the pool, and locking it in place again, Cordelia was able to grab her and pull her down. The chains which keep Misty suspended were easy enough to undo once she was on the ground, but they still had to free their hands.

          “I’ll do you first,” Cordelia knelt down and started fiddling with her chains, “You have powers, probably more than you even know, so if they do come in, you can defend us.” “They hunt us though, don’t they?” Misty nervously stared at the door. “They know how to get past our powers.” “But they always underestimate us.” A chain came loose, and Misty could freely move her legs.

          Unfortunately, it made a very loud clang as it hit the ground, and two shadows appeared on the other side of the door.


	9. What We Call Freedom

          “I told you I could do it.” Madison stood proudly with her hands on her hips, trying her best to hide how out of breath she was. _Fake it ‘til you make it, and don’t think about how you’re faking it_. “I might as well be the next Supreme.”

          In only one minute, she managed to impale all the undead up and down the street on every sharp object she could see. Their flailing, growling bodies rocked back and forth on fence posts, street signs, shrapnel, and more. She could feel herself slipping a few times, the sweet allure of unconsciousness calling to her, but she didn’t give in.

          She had something to prove, after all.

          “You don’t have to be so cocky.” Nan scoffed as they continued up the street, hearing a few thoughts about how tired she was and how much she wanted to just let go. “I could’ve done that too.” “Bullshit,” Madison snapped, “You may have gotten Myrtle all hot and bothered with your mind game, but don’t forget that I’m the muscle around here.”

          Nana looked back at her, her expression blank but also very annoyed. “Queenie does more than you,” she smirked, “She’s the muscle.” “She does the dirty work,” she quickly replied, “But that doesn’t mean she’s stronger than me. I can do everything she does, and more.”

          “Then why stay?”

          She didn’t have to answer. That was one of the fun parts about Nan, especially when it would frustrate and piss her off. She never had to dignify anything with a response, never had to open her mouth, never had to actually talk to Nan. Everything was already heard, already known.

          “Then why do you?”

          Unfortunately, it was equally, if not more so, frustrating to her, to have her jump into her thoughts and begin conversations she didn’t even want to have.

          “Because the alternative is trying to find something better than all of this.” she began. “When we were still getting news, the last body count we got was over two billion. We don’t even know how much of the world is still out there, let alone what’s outside this city.”

          That actually made her stop for a second. She didn’t like thinking about how billions of people were turned into these monsters. The number itself was baffling. _Billions_ of people died, rose up, and attacked the survivors. Could they ever be sure that the world was still somewhat intact?

          “There,” Nan said, “You know you’re just as scared as we are. And you won’t leave because we may be all you have.” “Maybe I should kill myself then,” Madison scoffed, “If this is really my only option.” “No,” Nan sighed, “Just the part of you that still thinks she needs to prove something to the world.”

          _Cunt_.

          Nan wanted to slap her, but she knew it wasn’t worth it. She was a little embarrassed for letting Madison get to her.

          “How far is it again?” she called out, as she was trying to put a little distance between the two of them. “And you know we’re supposed to be heading for the river, right?” “Around thirty miles,” she began, “And of course I do. But we need a boat, and one of the best options we had was this place a few blocks away.”

          It was a good idea, and though she didn’t want to admit it, Nan already heard. Usually she was much better at keeping select thoughts to herself, but everything was already very trying. It did strike her as a little odd that the hunters had gone so far into the city. It must’ve been them the other day, and for the first time in a while, she was glad the crowds of corpses stuck so close to the school.

          They might’ve been the only thing that saved them.

          As they rounded a corner, Madison noticed a sign above one of the shops ahead of them. The brand of the merchandise was illegible, but the text specifying “Boating Goods & Supplies” was all that she needed to see. She wasn’t sure what made this better than anything else, but it was pretty close to the school.

           “I think canoe would be best,” Nan said, “A raft seems a bit too, flimsy.” “I’d take an airboat over either of those.” As they got closer, they noticed heavy fortifications on the windows and door, and how neglected and decayed the building looked, even compared to everything else around them.

          “But I don’t think we’ll be so lucky.”

          The door to the shop was covered in rusty nails and rotten wood, which would’ve been fine if it wasn’t reinforced with metal slabs that looked like you could get tetanus just by looking at them. It was difficult to exert her influence over it, and every strain or groan could’ve been a warning to whoever or whatever was inside. Hopefully, if someone was inside, they were in the back, far enough to give the two of them a chance to respond.

          One of the slabs snapped in half, and the entire door was torn from the frame, racing past their heads as it slammed into the street, shattering and sending debris in every direction.

          “Who’s there?”

 

          She felt very dark, using her powers like this. She accepted long ago that once people got back up that they were lost, but it took her longer to be able to kill someone who was still alive. Even when her life depended on it, for which she was grateful that Stiles and the others were stronger than her. Apparently, so was Cordelia, who didn’t hesitate to tackle the first man who came in and slam his head against the railing.

          But now she was strangling a man with her mind, and she could feel her head pulsing every time he tried to escape her grasp.

          “Help us,” Cordelia said again, “And you get to walk out of here alive.” “Or you throw me into that pool?” he coughed. “I can see the look in this girl’s eyes, she’s too scared to go through with it.”

          He didn’t exactly have the most sinister look to him, but it was dangerous to assume everyone needed to look the part they played. Her father certainly didn’t.

          Cordelia slapped him, and she could feel his body tense up. “You don’t know her.” she whispered. “You have no idea what she’s capable of.” Was she trying to make her seem like a badass? If so, she would have to do better than that.

          “And neither do you,” he replied, “And pardon me, but she doesn’t exactly strike me as anything special.”

          _You’re nothing special_ , the words echoed in her head, _No one will do anything about it, anything for you._

          He fucked up.

          “I know who I am.” She tightened her grip, and he was struggling to breathe. “I’m someone who will do anything to protect the people who matter to me. I faced death before and defied it, and I did not go through that to die like a prisoner. I may not know this lady, but she and I are more alike than you can imagine, which gives me plenty of reasons to care more about her life than yours.”

          Pushing through the pain in her forehead, she raised him higher into the air, tightening again so his chest could barely move at all. His face was turning red, and his eyes were bulging, but she had to keep going. Slowly, she pushed him away and higher still, inching closer to the festering pool.

          “Wait!”

          He surprised her, and her grip loosened enough for him to reach into his pockets. He retrieved a ring of keys and a map and tossed them to Cordelia, who fumbled with the keys but caught the map in her other hand.

          “Here,” he said through ragged breathes, “Here, take them. I’m new, but the keys should get you into whatever room you need, even the armory.” “And the map?” Misty asked. “What does it show?” “A layout of the plant,” he quickly replied, “Points of interest, where not to go, anything.”

          “Thanks.” Cordelia wondered if they should drop him. He was too dangerous to keep around, and if he left, he would without a doubt run to Argent. Then the entire place would be bearing down on them, and if they tried fighting back, they’d be gunned down.

          At the same time, it could be worth it to prove a point.

          “We’re better than you,” she said, “Which is why you get to walk away from this. Bring him in Misty.”

          She pushed herself too far, and now she couldn’t ignore the pain in her head. She feared passing out, and waking up above the pool again, but without her powers. “I can’t,” she gritted her teeth as she tried pulling him in, “Cordelia, you have to catch him.”

          “I can’t,” she could already see that he was falling, “I don’t have my powers back.”

          “Please,” the smell was getting worse as the little bitch inched him closer to the pool, “Don’t, I have a family, please don’t do this, concentrate!”

          “I can’t.” She felt blood running down her nose, dripping on the hard metal floor as her legs gave out. “I, I’m sorry.”

          When she looked up, she lost her grip. Not because her mind or body gave out, or because she wanted to, but because of the look in his eyes. It was a fear that forced an empathy she didn’t expect to ever find with someone else. He started to scream, but it was quickly cut off by the splash, followed by a sick gurgling that lasted only a few seconds.

          Silence returned, and she took deep breaths as Cordelia helped her to her feet.

          “Are you alright?” Her voice was muffled, but every second seemed to bring new relief, her mind rejoicing that it didn’t have to be under such stress. “Do you think he was telling the truth?” she managed to get out. “About the family?”

          “Maybe,” Cordelia sighed, “But, we can’t think about that right now. We have a chance of making it out of here.” Misty glanced at the other girl in the room. “Her too,” she panted, “Right?” Cordelia looked down at the key ring. “Yes,” she replied, “We don’t leave anyone behind.”

 

          “Was that really necessary?” Allison kicked one of the bodies. “I think you three could’ve handled them without you going showgirl on us.” “Maybe,” Lydia adjusted her bra, “Or maybe not. Point is, it worked and I’m not dead.” “Are you two ok?” Scott asked. “I wasn’t expecting these freaks to be here too.”

          “A bit shaken up,” Stiles looked over one of their scrap guns, “But that’s how I usually am so, no complaints.” He tossed it to the wall, the barrel snapping as a screw came loose. “Crappy guns.” Scott chuckled. “Guess it makes sense why they were here.” “I’m also fine.” Derek chimed in. “If anyone cares.”

          “Relax new guy,” Lydia joked, “We’ll get the hang of making sure you’re alive soon enough.” She took in the entire scene around them. “This is a hell of a lot worse than what I was expecting.” The burned bodies in the back gave her chills, and she tried not to focus too much on them. “We really need to be on alert.”

          Allison fiddled with a sheath on one of their legs, a ratty thing that reeked just so slightly of mildew. The straps snapped away when she began to apply a bit extra force, and she pulled out an incredibly rusty and bloody machete. “Fuck,” Stiles took a step back, “That’s gnarly.” “Even if the cut doesn’t kill you,” she carefully rotated the blade, “Tetanus seems like a guarantee.” “Fucked up way to die,” Derek sighed, “And definitely something I’ve seen someone go through.”

          “And something we don’t need to see again,” Lydia added, “So, we should probably get moving. Especially since these guys probably have friends.” Allison wrapped the blade of the machete in a shirt she had wrapped around her waist, carefully avoiding any direct contact with the toxic metal. “Don’t judge me,” she ensured the wrap was secure, “I need something for the short range.”

         “No judgment,” Stiles replied, “Just, slight concern about hygiene.” “I’m guessing we should get out of here?” Derek asked. “Are we really ready to fight these guys?” “Maybe not,” Lydia looked up and down the terminal, “But we need to leave with something. If these guys are here, that has to mean there’s something worthwhile.”

          “But,” Scott added, “They’ll skin us alive if they get the chance.” “Not too different than being eaten alive,” Derek suggested, “And we were fine with taking that risk when we came here.” “As fun as this back and forth is,” Lydia interrupted, “How about we just get going? We saw those crates you mentioned earlier Derek, out on the tarmac. We’ll go check them out.”

          “We were heading for the barricade,” Stiles said, “The one at the original quarantine area.” “Sounds good.” Allison said as Lydia already headed out of the room. “Call us if anything goes wrong. Maybe with a shout, because the walkies are shit right now.” “Not just now,” Stiles smirked, “They’ve been shit for the last few weeks.”

          “We’ll put it on the list,” Lydia called out, “Now let’s go.”

          “She’s got the attitude of a leader,” Derek said as the others walked away, “Is she?” “I wouldn’t say we officially have a leader,” Stiles pondered, “But, if we did, it would definitely be her.” Derek looked him up and down again. Once was an accident, twice a coincidence, yadda yadda. All he knew was that he could feel his face flushing, and his awareness made it even worse.

         

          “This is going to be way too much fun.” Marie rolled her eyes. “He’s a few elevator looks away from getting down on one knee and proposing.” There wasn’t much to do, other than slip out of her body and watch what her wolf was up to. She had to be sure she wouldn’t be disturbed, but she didn’t want to get too far from the river. Wherever the hunters were, she needed to get to them as fast as she could.

          If everything went well, she could get everyone to burn themselves out at once.

 

          She wasn’t expecting to feel the cold, hard metal around her wrists, or for there to be so much pain as the darkness peeled back. The light wasn’t too harsh, so her eyes didn’t burn too much, but nothing around her seemed familiar. There were muffled voices around her, and there were two women standing above her. She couldn’t recognize them, or make out what they were saying, but she felt them fiddling with her wrists.

          With a loud clang, the metal fell off her wrists, and it dawned on her that she could barely feel her hands. “What?” She stumbled as she tried to stand up. “Where the hell are we?” The room was still blurry, but now she could make out two heads of blonde hair standing over her.

          “I’ll explain on the way out,” the taller one, Cordelia, said as she grabbed her arm, “We have to move.” “Wait,” the other one’s face was coming into focus, “Who’s this?” She looked more and more familiar by the second. Her hair was very pretty, wavy and well kept. She had the feeling that she’d seen her face a lot, but in a very short amount of time.

          No, she knew she had. On the news, and in their morning gatherings.

          “Holy shit,” she gasped, “You’re that girl from the news.” She smiled. “You’re Misty Day!” “Wow,” she chuckled, “You remember? Not even my friends caught my story.” “It was the basis of an entire lecture on safety and looking out for each other.” Queenie looked to Cordelia. “How’d we find her?”

          “More like they found her.” she replied. “We’re being held by witch hunters?” Chills ran down her spine. “Held where?” The room was clear to her now, but she had no idea where it could’ve been. “The nuclear plant,” Misty replied, “But my bones don’t hurt and we’re not glowing so, I think we’re safe from any of that?”

          She was bringing up everything she could remember about the hunters: the special bullets, the mercenary goons mixed with seasoned veterans, and the way they absolutely believed she was less than human. “So,” she looked Misty up and down, “What can you do?” “Before today,” she began, “I thought all I could do was bring animals back to life. But apparently I can also move things just by thinking about it.”

          “She’s more powerful than she knows,” Cordelia added, “Just like all of you.” “Nice,” Queenie high-fived her. “I can start fires, like you said, by thinking them. And I’m a human voodoo doll, but again, that’s not so useful these days.”

          A few more shadows passed outside the doors, but thankfully, they kept going.

          “Listen,” Cordelia lowered her voice to a whisper, “Our powers are being suppressed by a drug.” Queenie was skeptical, but when she tested this claim by trying to start a small fire on the ground, she was met only with a soft pressure on her forehead.

          “I can feel it wearing off,” Cordelia continued, “But until it does though, Misty is the only one of us who can fight. Stay down and don’t take any chances. We don’t know how many are in this place, and Argent is here.”

          The name didn’t register right away. Then she remembered another morning gathering, the third one she had after arriving, when they went over the new things she apparently had to be afraid of. All the terrible associations, the body trail he had apparently left, and the terrifying path he had taken through the country.

          “The asshole with the family in California.” she scoffed. “I guess it was too much to hope for the end of the world to be the end of the hunters too.” She noticed one of the bodies on the ground. “I’m gonna take his gun.” She was already making her way towards him. “I don’t like the idea of not being any help.” “That’s actually a good idea,” Cordelia glanced to the pool, “It couldn’t hurt to have some backup.”

          Her nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. Drip, drip, drip, she could see it falling on the ground. Her head wasn’t hurting so much anymore, but she was scared she might’ve pushed herself too far already. Was that possible? She was still conscious, so, that was good, right?

          “Misty,” Cordelia brought her back to the room, “Oh my god, are you alright?” She wiped her nose, knowing it wouldn’t do much, but that it also couldn’t hurt. “Head’s a little heavy,” she replied as she sniffled, “And well, you can see all of this, but I can power through it.” _Can I?_ Cordelia motioned for them to follow her to the door. Fighting against all her nerves, she cracked it ever so slightly.

          Up the hall, everything was clear, and she didn’t hear anyone approaching. There was no way of knowing how long they would be clear though. “Alright,” she took a deep breath, hoping they could at least make it into another room, “One, two, three.”


	10. Best-Laid Plans

          “As crazy as it sounds,” Madison smirked, “I think I would still fuck him. I mean, the Jell-O face is kind of sexy, in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre type of way.” Nan poked the man’s face with a stick, bludgeoned to a pulp from an old fire extinguisher. He was stretched on top of one of his companion, who she had mercifully shot in the throat. The other was on the other side of the room, a heavy piece of metal sticking out of his chest.

          “Why did you keep hitting him?” she asked as she pulled another clip from his belt. “I kept telling you he was already dead.” Madison kicked his head, and all of the softer chunks were sent flying. “They were witch hunters,” she began, “This was honestly too good for them.” “Maybe,” Nan tossed Allison a clip, “But it made a lot of noise.”

          “Blame them, not me.” Madison loaded her backpack with more of their gear, a smile spreading across her face when she pulled a belt of grenades off the man she beat to death. “But also thank them, because this is a major haul.” She noticed something sticking out of his pocket, and upon taking a closer look, it was a map.

          “We must’ve hit the jackpot,” she opened it up, revealing the layout of what could only be the power plant, “Looks like we get to plan ahead now.”

          _You bitches won’t get away_.

          “You’re alive?” Nan turned around, surprised to see the third hunter still moving, reaching for his shotgun as blood continued to pour onto the floor. “How’re you even moving?” “You’re resilient,” Madison aimed at his head, “Bonus points I guess.”

          “Wait,” Nan stepped in front of the gun, “He can tell us what we need to know.” “I won’t say shit,” he coughed, “You, you’re-” “Going to get what I want.” Nan could already hear some juicy details. Thirty men, give or take, highly fortified, a fully stocked armory.

          “Just to let you know,” said Madison, “This one can read minds, so chances are you’re already giving us what we need.” “Freaks.” He spat at them, a dark chunk of blood slapping onto the floor. “You can try to get inside, you’ll just end up dying too.”

          _Just like the plan. All of you, and that new one we found_.

          “Wait,” Nan stepped closer, kicking the shotgun away as his fingers wrapped around the barrel, “There’s a new one?” “Get out of my head!”

          Blonde, curly hair, maybe around her age, or a little younger.

          “I thought we were all that’s left.” Madison picked up the weapon, a riot model with a smooth, mat black stock. “Guess we should tell Cordelia the good news, when we find her.” “She already knows,” Nan said as she continued to dive through the man’s thoughts, “They’re in the same holding cell.”

          She pumped the shotgun.

          “Is that everything then?”

          She looked down at the man. Even though he was dying, he was thinking of every terrible thing someone could possibly say about her. The way she looked, what she was, how disgusting she was, how much he wished and hoped she would be dead by the end of the day.

          “Yes.” She turned around. “Go ahead and do it.”

 

          He wanted to believe the rest of them were dead, but he found himself increasingly on edge as the moved deeper to what was ground zero for their city. The bodies were piled up thicker and thicker, and blood was splattered across the walls and floor so heavily that some of it still looked wet. If he touched it though, he had no doubt it would feel like a disgusting pudding.

          It was better to know though, he had to admit. If they kept going they might’ve been stalked all the way to the barricade, and had their throats slit just as they started cracking into the crates. Then again, Derek might be able to walk away from that.

          Not exactly a comforting thought.

         “You’re good.” He remembered somewhere that starting the conversation was a great way to show interest, and something that he admittedly shouldn’t have needed to be told. It was also a good way to break tension, of which there seemed to be a great amount. “I’ve never seen someone move like you do.”

          Potential innuendos though? Not so great to use, at least in this situation.

          “So are you.” Derek smiled, and he could already feel himself getting hard. He _really_ needed to jack off as soon as he could. “What,” he chuckled, “At being bait?” Derek looked him up and down, not at all helping his building erection, and smiled again.

          “We all have our strengths.”

          “Wow,” he dramatically sighed, “You know, that really hurts my feelings. I’m a sensitive guy, with so much more to offer than being bait.” “Relax,” Derek whispered as a shuffling came from up ahead, “I’m just messing with you.”

          A small group of walkers came into view, illuminated through the cracks in the ceiling. He was expecting the noise to have attracted a lot of attention, and it seemed he was correct. Fortunately, though, that meant they were already on a set path, and as long as they stayed hidden and quiet, they would be fine.

          “You kept your cool.” Derek continued in his hushed tone. “Not everyone would’ve been down for that.”

          Once they were about a hundred feet past them, Derek quietly took the lead again, crouching just in case they needed to duck down again. Stiles stayed close behind, trying not to stare too long at his ass.

          “Thanks,” he didn’t want to stop whispering yet, “I, well, I try. Really don’t want to end up like most of the world.” “That’s a relief,” Derek was beginning to raise his voice, “I was worried you’d volunteer yourself to the army of the undead.”

          _This is good_ , he thought, _This is really good. Humor, compliments, ass._

          “So,” Derek stood up and spoke at a normal volume once the walkers were no longer visible, “Where do we go after this?”

 

          “That was out loud you idiot.” She didn’t even feel him slipping that time. The spell was supposed last long enough for the moon to fully rise, but apparently she need to bolster it every now and then as well. It certainly didn’t help that this Stiles kid was hitting Derek’s buttons, though she knew that would still be in her favor in due time.

          “Watch your tongue,” she commanded, “Don’t you dare blow it.”

 

          “I’m not sure.” Stiles replied, completely unaware of what just happened. “These bastards said they would be easy enough to find, but it still begs the question of _where_ to start looking, you know?” “True.” Derek held his arm out, listened, and then continued. “But if they want to lure all of us in, they won’t make it too hard to figure out.” Stiles scoffed. “That’s reassuring.”

          “Fucker!”

          It was quiet, but the ensuing gunshots and sounds of fighting were much louder. The two ducked behind a kiosk, almost slipping in a thicker puddle of gore, and listened to the fight continue. The shouting was indistinct, and all manner of guns were being fired. Peaking around the corner, Stiles could see the flashes were coming from an area just ahead of the barricade.

          “I guess there’s more,” Stiles whispered, “Shit.” “Don’t worry.” Derek came a little closer, enough for Stiles to feel the heat of his breath. “We can start shooting, take advantage of the distraction, or wait until they’re done and take care of whoever’s-”

          “No! You stupid fuck!”

          It must’ve been a hell of an explosion, since they could feel the ground shaking from where they hid. Being a normal person, for whatever that meant, Stiles thought it would be smart to wait a few minutes, to make sure no one else was coming or was still standing.

          Of course, he may have been mistaken, as Derek leapt over the kiosk and ran.

          “Hey!” he shouted. “Derek, wait! Derek!” He didn’t feel like running, but he hated being by himself even more, especially since the walkers might be making a U-turn. It wasn’t far, thankfully, and he could smell the fire not long after he left the safety of their hiding place.

          He didn’t like the recklessness, but he was glad Derek wasn’t as perfect as his dick was trying to make him think he was. It could keep him grounded, and remind him not to get distracted and killed. That would be a hell of an awful way to rescue a friend, to die over a crush.

          He saw Derek’s shadow standing still, and he could see a huge burn mark on the ground.

          “Holy shit.”

          The first thing that came to mind was, _massacre_. There weren’t many bodies, not that he could exactly keep count. There were severed, gnarled limps scattered all around him, bodies blown to gory pieces, and only a few men seemed to have been far enough away to remain intact, as generous as a word that may have been.

          “At least they took care of each other.” Derek he kicked a lonely hand away. “Yeah,” Stiles covered his nose, “That’s, uh, one way of putting it.” Derek looked around, shrugging his shoulder before crossing his arms. “This can’t be the worst you’ve seen,” he began, “We’ve spent all this time walking through a mass grave.”

          “It’s different when it’s fresh.” Stiles gagged when he saw what must’ve been a charred spread of intestines, shit sticking out of one end. “Especially when there’s shit.” “We still shit when we die,” Derek kicked the guts aside, “Even if we get blown up. But I guess I see where you’re coming from.” He smirked. “Lightweight.”

          One, two, three, four gunshots, and some heavy thuds soon after. They ducked down again, almost on reflex after doing it again and again, and waited for the footsteps to come close enough to start shooting.

          “Guys!” Stiles relaxed the grip on his gun. “Are you alright?” “The radios are _shit_ ,” Allison chimed in, “Someone say-”

          She rounded the corner first, and slipped on a piece of one of the men on the floor. Stiles rushed to help her catch her footing, but he also slipped on something, a squishing sound echoing as his feet came out from under him.

          As the two started to tumble to the ground, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and saw one on Allison’s. He looked up to see Derek, an indifferent look on his face as he effortlessly held the two of them in the air.

          “Gotta watch your step,” he let them find their footing before releasing his grip, “It’s a bit of a mess around here.” “Thanks,” Allison’s eyes were fixed on the carnage, “But what the hell happened?” “As much as I’d like to take credit,” Stiles replied as the others joined them, “I can’t. This was all them.”

          Lydia carefully stepped around the gore on the ground, and squatted next to someone who was still mostly intact. He was wearing military gear that, through the blast marks and lacerations, looked knew. She looked around for another one like him, and found someone with less of their parts still intact, but in an identical outfit.

          “Interesting,” she began as she spotted the third, “Three men with new military gear,” she noticed the assault rifles they were carrying, “And weapons, in a city that was evacuated months before the rest of the world fell. Anyone know what this might mean?” “That I was wrong to hope we might have it easy.” Scott replied. “Of course it would have to be people like this.”

          “I wasn’t expecting a cakewalk,” Derek added, “But this is a little extreme.” Lydia plunged her hand into one of the dead men’s pockets, a wet sloshing echoing in the room as their leg slid out of the pant leg. “What?” She pulled a bloodied photograph, tossing it aside as she wiped her hand on his vest. “We get our hands dirty all the time.”

          “Again,” Stiles was trying to decide which body would be the easiest to search, “It’s different when they’re already dead and rotted.” The stink of shit and blood hit Lydia all at once, and she fought to hold back the bile that was rising in her throat. “Oh fuck,” she gagged, “That is all down here. You’re right, but we need to take what we can.”

          “Looks like the guns are still intact.” Allison pulled a smaller machinegun from one of their hands, tossing the bloody weapon to Derek. “Or, some of them at least.” “Swipe the vests too.” Derek checked the gun for any obvious damage, and was satisfied to see it was sound enough. “Some bulletproofing couldn’t hurt.”

          Something was thrust into his peripheral. Much to his surprise, Stiles was already holding one of the vests in his hands. He smiled and pushed it back to him. “You’re sure?” he was confused. “I mean, when they start shooting-” “I’ll be fine.” he winked. “Keep yourself safe.”

          He probably didn’t need to worry about Derek dying on them, but it couldn’t hurt to keep up appearances.

          “I think I found something,” Scott excitedly pulled a crumpled-up paper from a pocket, “It looks like a,” he sighed, “Nope, too much blood, the ink’s running.” “Was it a map?” Allison asked as she kissed him. “Maybe,” he wiped his hands on the ground, “But now, all I’ve got is blood underneath my fingernails.”

          “Well, well, well.” Lydia waved another piece of paper in her hand, significantly less bloodied than the one Scott found. “Wow,” Stiles said as he finished strapping the vest on, “Try to sound more like a TV character.” “Shut up.” She rolled her eyes as she unfolded the map.

          It was hand drawn, but in great detail, depicting the new geography of the city. It was a big chunk of the city and the outlying area, encompassing the entirety of where they had gone over the last few days and the southern cusp of Lake Pontchartrain.

          Once her eyes moved to the lower left-hand side of the map, she found what she wanted. “The nuclear power plant.” She turned it around so the others could see. “Big, red circle. Looks like we’ve got a target.”

 

          “Perfect.” Marie hurried to the door, eager to get out on the river. She could see the plant from where she landed, and she could see a thick patch of mangrove trees along the backside. She had to stop herself, remembering that she would need more powders and such if she wanted to stay ahead.

          Thankfully it wouldn’t take too long, not that she imagined they were going anywhere any time soon. She did have to wonder why they chose the power plant though. There must’ve been better places in the city to hunker down, and was it worth getting so close to all that nuclear material?

          Not that she had to worry about that, but it was important to keep it in mind. Hunters never did anything without reason.

 

          The hallway was lined with walkways and heavy pipes, the metal corroded and cracked open from neglect. Water had leaked inside, and they had to move very slowly to avoid making too much noise. There wasn’t anything marked on the map for this part, but it looked like it ran along the backside of a few rooms that could lead outside the plant.

          “So,” Misty whispered, “You were, are, a student?” “Kinda,” Queenie replied, “But it was a little more than that. At least that’s what Cordelia would always say.” “You would’ve fit right in.” Cordelia smiled. “The school was, is, a place for all members of our kind.” “So how many more of us are there?” Misty flinched when something brushed past her foot, but looking down, she realized it was just an old shoe.

          “Three.” She led them up one of the staircases, which lead to a walkway which would wrap around the back of some offices. She was glad to be out of the water, but the metal clanged loudly as they ascended. “But I’d like to hope that there are still more out there.” The echoes of other footsteps were becoming more audible, and there was indistinct shouting all around them.

          If she had to guess, they finally found out that they had escaped.

          “Has the group we sent to the airport reported in?”

          Someone was coming. No, two people were coming. Enough to handle in a fight, but they needed to hide, to make as little noise as possible. One of the big pipes along the wall was dented, with an opening large enough for all of them to crawl inside.

          “No.” The other voice coincided with a door opening at the end of the walkway, and Queenie pulling her feet inside the pipe. It was crowded, and it smelled like mildew and sewage, but it was supposed to be safer than out there.

          “I think they’re dead.” The second man continue. “Shit, that’s four down already.” “Dumbasses,” the first one scoffed, “We’re down four idiots who only joined up because they thought it would keep them safe.” “Can’t blame them, this honestly is a pretty easy job most of the time.” “Yeah you’ve got me there.”

          Misty could see their legs through a crack by hands. “Cordelia,” she didn’t think there was too much of an echo, “Do I need to see their whole body to keep them still?” “I’ll call it in,” the second one continued, “Get another group sent to clean up the mess.” “No,” she replied, “Just trip them, and grab them when they’re on the ground.”

          “I told them it was a bad idea.” She tested her power on their shoelaces. The aglets pulled the knot apart, and she tried it again on the other three. “Those kids barely knew how to hold a gun.” “Yeah. Wait, your shoes are untied.”

          “Now!”

          She made a fist and yanked her hand back, elbowing Queenie as the two men were swept off their feet. There was a loud crack before they hit the ground, and one of them made a much wetter thud than the other. The legs twitched, but they were more or less motionless. They could hear a new dripping sound as they crawled out of the pipe.

          “Shit,” Queenie kicked the man who apparently cracked his head open, “You fucked him up girl.” “Holy shit,” Cordelia turned away, “That, is not what I was expecting.” “What did I do?” Misty was still crawling out. “Oh god, how bad is-” She could very clearly see brain coming out of his skull, his eyes fixed wide open as his legs continued to twitch. The other one was also bleeding, but he looked like he might be alive.

          “Let’s go, please.” She wasn’t too disgusted, but the fresh gore was a bit too much. Cordelia grabbed the gun the concussed man was holding. “Now I don’t feel like dead weight.” she smiled, frowning when she looked at the dead man again. “Let me look over the map. If you hear or see anyone, hide, don’t shoot.”

          There was the door the men had entered, and another one that lead to what seemed to be an employee lounge. That, in turn, lead to another hallway that went past the control room and to the main lobby. If, that was the right word to describe it.

          “This way.”

          She pushed the door far enough for them to get a good look around. There were no hunters, but it was full of people. Every one of them was strung up on the wall, the arms held overhead by chains that all converged on an anchor attached to the ceiling. This wasn’t a quick, spur of the moment arrangement. This must’ve taken weeks, maybe months.

          How long were the hunters in the city?

          “Oh my god,” Misty gasped, “Where are we?” “Looks like a prison cell.” Queenie was the first to enter the room. “These people can’t all be witches, can they?” “I don’t think so.” There were a lot of men strung up in the room, who could certainly be warlocks or supernaturally sensitive, but the mix seemed too random, and she knew that there couldn’t be so many witches left in the city.

          “They could be friends and family,” Cordelia continued, “People who tried to fight back. Or maybe some of them are leverage.” This wasn’t exactly in line with how they usually behaved, but if there was anyone who might’ve turned to the dark side after the apocalypse, it was them. Then again, the Argents always followed their codes very strictly.

          Misty came up to someone who had a shirt stuffed into their mouth. Blood had stained the fabric and their lips, and when she cupped their face in her hands, all she felt was emptiness. Her hair was long, and when she brushed it aside, there was a bullet hole in her forehead.

          “We have to help them.” Misty checked the person next to her, and her throat was slit. “They’re killing them.” “There’s no time,” Cordelia was looking out the door on the other end of the room, “We can help them all by getting out of here and coming back when we’re stronger.” “But-”

          “Hey,” Queenie turned her away from the bodies, “Girl, listen. I know this is hard, but if we’re not careful we’ll all end up like these people. We have to save ourselves.” She looked around the room. She could already tell some of them were still alive, their chests weakly moving up and down. But, she was right. There were too many of them.

          “Wait.” One of the faces looked familiar. No, she knew she recognized it. “I know him. Guys, I know him.” “Good for you,” Queenie grabbed her arm, “Let’s go.” “We need to get back inside,” Cordelia ran away from the door, “Someone’s coming.” “I’ll be quick.” She grabbed the chains, fiddling with the lock as she realized she had the key ring. “Misty,” Cordelia whispered, “Please, we need to-” “ _Hide_.”

          “They won’t kill me,” Misty whispered as she cycled through the keys, “They need me. But I can still help you. I’m gonna get you out of here Danny.” “You’re sure about that?” She dropped the keys, backing into the wall as she turned around to see this Argent man again. “You were a surprise,” four other men entered the room with him, “But it wouldn’t be wise to assume you’re the most valuable one.”

          He looked at the other door. “Gas them.” The other men threw cans of tear gas through the door, and Cordelia and Queenie barely made it to their feet before the cloud of gas enveloped them. “We’ve been needing an example, and you’ll do just fine.” She started to use her power, but before she could get ahold of him he plunged a needle into her throat.

          “You know him?” He looked at the young man on the wall. He remembered bringing him in, along with the rest of that group harboring the firebug. She was twitching, spasming, so he knew it was doing its job. Soon enough she’d black out again, and they could get everyone back where they belong. “Good. He’ll die with you.”


	11. Convergence

     The door slammed with a deafening _bang!_ against the wall. Cordelia jumped back, her hand having not even touched the handle yet. Two men she had probably seen before barreled in, though apparently not with the knowledge that their cohort had been incapacitated. This ignorance, their inability to prepare for the wrath of two witches, was their downfall. Cordelia ducked, and Misty propelled the men across the room. Their thud and that of the door closing were synonymous and melodious, brute force and mental willpower singing the same note. As she approached their new enemies, Cordelia considered how long this room could serve as bait for their assailants. But how long would it be until Queenie could fend for herself?

     A concern for another time. Right now, they had business to attend to, to disarm with the flick of their wrists. The men seemed in awe of their power, which was almost laughably ironic. Did the witch hunters quake so easily at the sight of a supernatural being; did they really think that _this_ was a real display of power? The Tasers renders them immobile and twitching in pain, and this time, Cordelia took the role of executioner. It was haunting at how easy it had already become to slay another human. No reason in worrying though, hesitation and reflection never did any good for anyone. Their deaths were quick, which was already more than they deserved.

     These two had better armament, a shotgun and a magnum, the latter having a strange aura to it. Misty pointed it out, and Cordelia quickly deduced the cause. "They're using augmented bullets," she said, "Something more powerful than a blessing." "Can we still use them?" "Of course, but don't let a bullet hit you. I'm not sure what it is that they've laced it with, but it's dangerous." "We might die when this happens. We can't bring back dead people, the virus keeps us dead." "We won't die. If we do, then it's only prolonging the inevitable that they set forth. Now we've talked enough, let's move. They've beaten me pretty awfully, worse than you, so I need you to be an extension of my senses."

 

     The engine of the car roared, and Madison released a small shriek of joy. "I continue to be the greatest." she proudly proclaimed. "I honestly wasn't sure of it at first, but now I hate myself for doubting." "It's a nice ride," Nan commented, "But any car could get us to that country club faster than walking." "Exactly. So, let's ride."

 

     "Let's stop here." Lydia suggested over the radio. "We need to plan our route and eat." "Is it noon already?" Allison butted in. "Shit, talk about traffic hour." "If we didn't have to worry about our ammunition," Lydia resumed, "We could've moved a lot faster. Unfortunately, this city is evil and I'm certain it is actively trying to make our lives harder." "That's not too hard to believe," Stiles chimed in, "Especially with these other developments." "You still doubt me?" Derek asked. "What reason would I have to trick you?" "It's hard to believe," Lydia replied, "Despite everything the world's been through. And I hate to say it, but if I could see some form of what could pass as proof I'd probably come around on this whole thing."

     The undead were no longer in sight. They pulled over and set up their temporary camp. Scott and Allison took the first watch, and the other three sat around a map of the city. It represented the pre-apocalyptic geography and demographic makeup of the New Orleans area, but the group had extensively scribbled over it to accurately reflect the region's current layout. "Alright," Lydia began, "There's no easy way to reach the bank of the Mississippi without going further into the city." "How much further?" Derek asked. "Will we be able to make our deadline?" "We should be able to, but we'll need to drive to the Colonial Golf and Country Club." "That won't be an easy drive," Stiles added, "But I guess it'll be worth it." "It will be." Lydia insisted. "If we tried the more direct route then we'd be passing through some serious areas of overgrowth, areas that I'm sure are infested with walkers." "I don't want another scare," said Stiles, "I've had enough of the walkers today." Stiles glanced at Derek, who had a stern look in his eyes. _Another scare_. _Well, stop being so paranoid man. They don't have any reason to think that you were bitten. Calm your tits._ "I hear that," Lydia replied, "I want to avoid any direct confrontations. Yesterday was my scare day." _See?_ Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek. _Calm down._ "Let's take a two hour break." Lydia declared. "I really need to rest, to soak all of this in. And, on the off chance that we make it to the power plant today, I want to be well rested." "I'll get the Campbell's and the buds on burner." said Stiles. "We have fruit, right? I don't want to get scurvy."

 

_As the sun rises into the sky and leans into the afternoon, new shadows are cast upon the city. The ruins are hauntingly beautiful, the green of the Earth creeping up their walls. Madison and Nan drive through the hazardous streets and avenues. The undead seen to be clumped up on the other side of the city, though there are great numbers of them within eyeshot. She drives cautiously but quickly, not wanting to make a noisy scene or give the undead enough time to comprehend their presence. Nan is on edge. While the city wasn't a place for humans, raiders and other dangerously deranged individuals could be lurking within the darkened hallways of the shops, homes, and businesses._

_Cordelia and Misty did not make it very far. The only reason the women survived is because the hunters want to use them as bait. They were not gentle, however, in apprehending them. Cordelia heard and felt her arm snap, and Misty was shot with so many darts Cordelia was currently very concerned that she would never wake up. They were not brought back to the same cell. Instead, along with Queenie, they were all locked inside a very small closet and were bound and gagged. Mr. Argent showed himself only once, right before he slammed the closet door shut._ "Next time we won't let you live. So just stay here and do your job: stay alive long enough for the voodoo bitch and the other witches to come here." _Just what the hell was going on? Could Marie really be alive? And after them?_

_The two hours slowly crept by, for everyone. Stiles and his friends talked through all of it, most of it being arguments with Derek about the existence of witches. Cordelia lost consciousness, the first real sleep she would probably have until her death. It wasn't a comforting thought, but nothing could comfort her at this point. Madison and Nan were so close to their destination when they were given a rather irritating reminder. These streets were not the same streets the world once knew. A year of turmoil had scattered many pieces of the old world all about. Some of those pieces took the form of seemingly impossible obstacles. She stopped the car, and decided to try to do what had to be done._

 

     "I really don't think this a good idea Madison." "Stop it Nan." Madison barked through gritted teeth. "This isn't as easy as it looks." The front end of an eighteen wheeler was lodged into a thin but tall building, and the accident was blocking their most direct route to the nearest bank of the river. "Please just let me take us the long way," Nan begged, "This seems like a really dangerous idea." "Shut up, we don't have time to go around. Three streets are blocked by this metal bitch; I'm doing us and any other survivors a favor." There was a loud scraping sound, followed by the vehicle suddenly popping out of the building. Bricks and wood tumbled out of the opening, and glass shattered as Madison strained to swing the truck out of their way.

     "See Nan? I did it." Her hands started to shake, and sweat was starting to roll down her chin. "Madison, just drop it, we can get around it now." Ordinarily, Madison would gladly take the easy way out. But not this time. Lately, she'd been having thoughts about who their next Supreme could be. And she got to thinking, why not her? She was carrying this metal monster with her mind, and who knows how many tons it must weigh? It was a toy to her. A heavy toy, but still. Her powers of the mind and manipulation have been growing. Why not her?

     "Madison!" _Shit_. How could she have let herself trail off like that? The eighteen wheeler crashed into an apartment building on the other side of the street. The third floor of an apartment building. She released her grip, and the truck remained planted in the walls. "Huh," she began, panting for breath, "I thought there'd be more, you know, building collapsing going on." "Let's just go," Nan repeated once more, "We've drawn enough attention to ourselves." The universe begged to differ. The building began to lean over. Not the one Madison had impaled with the truck, but the one she had pulled the truck out of. It was terribly loud, louder than either of them had expected. It raced to the ground and collapsed with a crumbling thud, kicking up the dust and debris of the streets and throwing it into the air.

     Immediately following the collapse, the distant roar of the undead echoed through the streets. They emerged from all around the girls, coming out of the buildings, of the overgrowth, around corners, their arms flailing through the windows of every building in sight. "Well shit," said Madison, "Looks like this was the wrong neighborhood to wander into." "Are you really making jokes right now?" "Nan that attitude really doesn't make me want to like you, even though I feel like we could be pretty good friends." "Just get in the car!" The two girls practically leapt into their new car, but unfortunately, the universe was not yet done being cruel to them. "It's out of gas?" Madison exclaimed. "What the shit?" "Forget it," she felt Nan's perpetual grip dragging her from the car, "Let's run!" Already the hordes of the undead were closing in on them. The stretch of decay was strong.

     "I told you we should've just taken the long way!" Nan and Madison sprinted through the streets, rushing along as fast as their legs could manage and then some. Behind them, a herd of walkers was rapidly growing. From all other sides they seemed to appear, the undead growing more numerous as the flowed down the street, every turn revealing more hungry beasts. "Shut up!" Madison replied. "You said we didn't have much time, so I followed your advice." "My advice was to go around!" "I meant the _implied_ advice, the shit people for whatever reason never say but they know deep down that it has to be done."

     A squishy hand gripped Nan's calf. She stumbled as she shook the growling corpse from her leg, tripping over some metallic obstacle covered in the overgrowth of the streets. Madison slammed on her brakes as Nan tumbled onto the street. She could see blood trickling down her legs and arms. The walkers were clearly frenzied by the smell of fresh blood. "Get up!" Madison didn't skip a beat, yanking her companion from the ground. "You're bleeding, a lot, and they can smell it." "Was I scratched by it?" her voice was frantic, panicked. "Madison, am I bitten?" A quick glance provided the only relief to be had of the current situation. There were no cuts where the walker grabbed her, and its mouth never got close to her. Then again, that mouth was chomping towards them. They picked up their sprint again, albeit somewhat slower.

 

    In truth, things seemed to be progressing much faster than she had expected. It was a lot messier as well, but in the end it wouldn't matter how much of a mess was made as long as all the bodies were cold on the floor. The drift through the river was very relaxing. The overgrowth shielded Marie from the harsher sunlight, and the waters were deep enough to keep the undead at bay. The occasional hungry reptile was easily waved away. With the wolf running on autopilot, however glitchy it may be, she was finally able to relax, and allow her thoughts to wander.

     "This is way overdue." It was comforting hearing a voice, even if it was only her speaking. Human speech was always refreshing when one only hears snarls and growls for hours on end. "Hunting down witches in this shithole is not an easy chore. And what a chore it has been. My pet's misbehaving, some hunters are running about, and then the bystanders gotta get involved." She considered the teenagers. In truth, she could've easily thought of a plan in which they wouldn't have to die. But, admittedly, she was impatient. She didn't see it as a problem though. Who were they for her to care about? In a different world she allowed herself to care for almost anyone if they came to her. Unfortunately, the cards dealt were not in their favor. She needed to finish this, now, and to erase it all.

     Maybe that was it. Maybe she wanted them all dead so she could start clean. She didn't want any reminders of what will happen. This world was cruel enough; she didn't need her mind nagging her about some survivors she never even knew before society collapsed.

     The power plant loomed over the tree cover. "And we're here. Hopefully the others get here soon. Hiding shouldn't be a problem, but it certainly won't be a vacation."

 

     "What the hell is this?" Stiles slammed on the brakes, the gory tires squeaking and grinding to a halt inches from the twisted metal of the truck's corpse. "When did that get here?" "Stiles," Lydia shouted from behind the jeep, "How about a little more fucking warning?" "Well sorry!" he shouted in reply. "I wasn't expecting a fucking building to be blocking the roads." "Let's calm down." Allison spoke over the radio, a soothing tone compared to Stiles and Lydia's exchange. "It's not like there's no other way though this city." "She's right," Scott chimed in, "And luckily, the only way that isn't blocked off actually leads to one of the new branches of the river." "How far down?" Derek asked. "A couple of miles," Scott replied, "Which is practically nothing compared to the setbacks we've seen in the past."

 

     All corners. At every turn of the street there was an impressive herd of the undead converging, at every angle a mob approaching. By the time they were stripped to the bone, all these walking corpses would be another horde worthy of a post-apocalyptic legend. "To be honest," Madison began, "I had a feeling this was how it wound end. I mean, how else would this world take you? Have a junkie shoot you for a can of spam? Die from salmonella?" "I'd rather have a quicker death, this is going to hurt!" Sunlight reflected off the water rolling down Nan's face. Madison didn't want her to be so miserable. Granted not much more could be expected, but it was hopeless. Better to find some final peace before a horrendous end.

     "And it'll hurt more than anything else," Madison added, "But we can't escape it. This time, our powers couldn't save us. Not even mine." She gazed at her hands, clenching them into fists and releasing her grip as her fingers went white. The walkers were so close, their stench was overwhelming. Any thoughts of her being the Supreme evaporated. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, and powerless. Powerless. A Supreme was supposed to have all the power in this world and the next, the power to manipulate everything. So what was she? She wrapped her arms around Nan and embraced her, allowing her, friend, to cry into her shoulder. She was pathetic. How could she let Nan feel this way? And then there was that. Wasn't a Supreme a ruler as well? Fuck that. Even if she was the Supreme, she would never see herself in Cordelia's shoes. Still, she wouldn't let her fellow witches fall so hard to such lows.

     The sound was beautiful, one she had produced several times a day in the past. It was the sadistically wonderful melody of metal tearing through rotten flesh. But, interjected by gunfire and some very faint shouting. It probably wasn't faint, but drowned out by the roar of carnage. Roar, the metal brigade was _roaring_ towards them. Directly ahead of them. It wasn't long before the, jeep as it seemed, came tearing through the herds. Even undead idiots can be distracted, and this was just enough. A thin line amongst the ranks parted, and Madison dragged Nan through. There was a shallow ditch in the street, and she threw Nan down before throwing herself beside her. Mustering every ounce of strength she convinced herself was left in her body, she did not allow so much as a drop of blood to land on them. Instead it hovered, hovered as the wheel of a truck swerved over them.

     "Get up!" The voice was not one born to command, but the glove certainly fit. The two popped their heads out of the ditch to see a confident group of well-armed teenagers massacring. The one who must've yelled at them, who was facing them while his weapon fired into the herd, was certainly something to get a second look at. "Come on, we can't keep this up!" Madison knew something was wrong, the way they fired their weapons so carefully and slowly. Low ammunition perhaps. She didn't another invitation, and pulled Nan from their ditch and rushed them to the jeep; she assumed it would have more room for them.

     The boy who called them over leapt into the driver's seat. The one fighting beside him, older but with a bad boy look that Madison could feel all the way down, took shotgun with a shotgun. Ha. When the vehicles started up, the two girls noticed for the first time the terrifying plows attached to the front ends. They tore through the walkers, and a huge relief swept over them. It was palpable, something that filled the air. It didn't take long for their saviors to notice.

     "Thank god we came this way," the shouter began, "You two wouldn't have lasted another minute." "It wouldn't be that long." Nan replied. "Thank you." "Don't mention it. My name is Stiles, and that's Derek." "Nice to meet you." "Same here." Madison added. "You guys have some serious firepower and strength. So, what was with the way you were shooting?" "We're conserving ammo," Derek replied, "We have a big fight ahead of us." "Well that's a coincidence," Madison began, "Because we were looking for a big fight. Not with the undead bastards that you've got stuck to your plow and windshield, but some people who deserve worse than them."

     "Time for another coincidence then," said Stiles, "Because the bastards we're going after should've been six feet long ago. Derek here told us that they call themselves witch hunters." "What?!" Nan's voice took on a powerful tone, one apparently powerful enough to shake Derek. "You too?" "What the fuck is this?" Madison asked. "What're the odds?" "Incredibly slim I'd say," Stiles replied, "But hey, why question things when the dead rise? Who'd they take from you?" "Our instructor and a friend," Nan replied, "While they were out on a scavenging mission. I'm Nan by the way, and this is Madison." "Montgomery," she added, "In case you didn't recognize me." "Holy shit," Stiles exclaimed, "I fucking knew it! Wow if the world hadn't ended this would be like a dream come true." "I appreciate the compliment." "But," Stiles interrupted, "What were the names of your friends who were taken?" "Cordelia was our instructor," Nan replied, "And Queenie was our friend." "They're well-armed too," Madison added, "Though that should go without saying. It's hard to detain a firestarter."

     "Firestarter?" asked Stiles. "What's that mean?" "It's easier than saying 'a mad witch who can start fires with her mind.'" Nan replied. "It also has a nice ring to it." Stiles was speechless. Derek spoke of that whole world of witchcraft as though it were real, and so did she. Madison may have been a lot of things, especially controversial, but she never seemed crazy. "She isn't." said Nan. "And your friend was telling the truth. Witches are real, and there are people hunting us." "How the fuck did you do that?" asked Stiles. "I didn't say a word." "She's clairvoyant," Madison replied, "A mind reader. Still doubt magic now?"


	12. New Developments

     "Why are we here again Stiles?" Lydia asked as she peered through binoculars upon the horizon. "Just because walkers, well, walk, doesn't mean sitting around is any less dangerous." "Which is why we're on the roof," he replied, "And why our muscle is at the door." He nodded at Derek and Scott, their backs against the only rooftop entry. "No thuds or scratching yet," said Scott, "We're good." "Honestly," Stiles began, "I need us to sit down again and just, fucking let all of this sink in. From last evening to, fuck, it's probably only 1 o'clock or something, we've had a shit ton of crazy and unbelievable encounters and revelations."

     "Crazy witch hunters," Lydia interjected, "Witches, _actual_ magic, kidnappings, three mysterious strangers, a gunfight in the airport, a week's worth of near-death experiences, and, um, am I forgetting anything?" _Well you are_ , Stiles thought, _But I don't think he'd be too happy about me spilling his secret. But why is he so concerned about us knowing? Why is he calling it a curse?_ "No," he said aloud, "I think that goes across the whole spectrum. Things haven't moved this fast, this, spastically, since those days when the world started falling apart. It's an eerie feeling." "I know what you mean." said Madison. "Watching the world lose its fucking mind was, I'd have to guess, my worst trip ever."

     "I always wondered what would happen to celebrities in these situations." said Allison. "It’s strange to think of them going through all of this shit. I guess some can adapt." "I'd like to think that the ones I knew survived, but honestly, most probably died a while ago. It gets easy to deal with loss in this world." "Not really," Nan interjected, "You just get more used to always having to deal with it." Nan's words cast a momentary silence over the group. "How do you know Madison?" Allison asked as she cast off the silence. "We went to the same school," Nan replied, "The plantation-style one in the garden-" "Nan," Madison snapped, "Could you not?"

     "They're not bad people Madison, I know they're not." "But that's still pretty much giving away the fucking Bat Cave." "Wait," said Stiles, "I thought you were in some rehab center." "Which was a very believable cover story," Madison replied, "But I don't think it would've been good for my career to come out as a witch." "I can understand that." said Lydia. "Now, Stiles, can we please get going? You know how dangerous it is to stay in the city this long." "As if the river's much safer." said Scott. "Not yet," Stiles asserted, "I, just, a few more minutes, alright?" "No," Lydia asserted, "We move now. Let's check out the buildings by those docks. We need a new ride and some place to secure our own rides."

 

     "Level with me Nan," Madison whispered as the two approached a rental shack, "What aren't you telling me about them?" Nan quickly scanned the area. There was enough distance between the other groups and themselves for her to speak freely. "Derek," she replied, "The oldest one? I can't read his mind." Immediately Madison felt uneasy. Nan's powers had never faults red before. "Why not?" she simply asked. "I don't know, but something is blocking them out." Active interference? On a lighter note, had she known such a thing was possible, long ago would she have taken that action. But on a serious note, this did bring Derek's very nature into question. "He does fit the image of a man hiding something." She noticed Derek and Stiles approaching the warehouse. He could be the devil himself, but Madison couldn't stop herself from stealing more than a quick glance. "Could you focus?"

     Nan raised her voice well beyond what Madison would've preferred. Derek and Stiles turned their heads towards them, and Madison quickly averted her eyes. She grabbed Nan's arm and picked up their pace. "As long as you keep your voice down." she replied. "Sorry." said Nan. "The others don't seem to really be associated with him." "They've only known him a few hours more than us. Not much time to form a bond." Madison's words were, muffled, in Nan's ears. The thoughts of one of the others came strongly. It was a brief spike, no doubt because of the growing distance between them and the others, but it was clear as day. And, awkward. "Oops." she whispered. "What?" Madison still caught her comment. "I shouldn't say," Nan began, "It's one of those reasons I don't like having this gift." "Come on," Madison nagged, "I'm not gonna blab to them." It wasn't necessarily that she trusted Madison, but she knew Madison wouldn't give up on this. Might as well get it over with. "One of them likes Derek." A smirk crept its way onto Madison's face. "Ooh," she teased, "Scandalous. I bet it's Allison, looking for a new boy toy." She laughed, but Nan was not amused. "What?" "Um, it's Stiles."

 

     "What do you think about them?" asked Scott as he broke down the door to one of the larger warehouses. "I'm still pretty star struck." Lydia replied with a slight giggle. "Same here." Allison said with a similar tone. "It's amazing that we ran into her. As for Nan, she seems down to earth. I like her." "She definitely seems to be the tamer of the two." added Lydia. "It's kind of weird that she can read our minds though." "But," said Scott, "Like you said, she's tame. I don't think that just because she has that power means that she would abuse it." _I have the feeling she's the least of our worries,_ he thought, _Especially considering what we're about to be neck deep in._ The dock warehouse was very large, and the conversation subsided as they spread out. Surely there would have to be something they could use.

     A large, grungy tarp, draped over some long, mysterious object. Whatever could it be? Allison yanked the disgusting cover, causing a pungent cloud to be released as the tarp fell off. There was never any question as to what it was. "I found a canoe." she announced. "That sure as hell isn't what I would want to go through those waters in, but if it's the only thing we can find, I won't have a choice." Lydia and Scott came to Allison's side, examining the canoe. It was almost entirely made up of patches, and duct tape seemed to be a major ingredient. "Hell to the no." Lydia declared. "I'll build us a goddamn yacht if I have to." "I actually think some of the patches have shirts in them." Scott observed. "I doubt this thing will ever float again." "I doubt it could hold off a walking skeleton." Lydia added. "Let's keep looking."

     The search continued, and Allison noticed something far less obvious than the rotted tarp. There were about a dozen large crates stacked, forming a sizable wall with a corner. Peeking out from one of the corners was the very tip of a small boat. Relatively flawless metal assured her that it would be a major step up from the canoe. Rounding the corner, the boat revealed itself to be far more than she could have hoped for. "How about one of these bad boys?" she called out. Lydia and Scott were soon by her side again, and their eyes lit up when they saw the airboat sitting on its trailer. "That could work." said Scott. "And there are two of them." "Each with five seats." Lydia added. "There's enough space for us, and for our friends once we save them."

 

     "Alright," Stiles began, "The water levels have never reached this point, and the barricade is solid. Hopefully no one rummaging through the city gets _too_ nosy." It concerned him that there were signs of water damage on the other side of the shed, but his concern wouldn't do any good. This was still the best place to hide their vehicles. He quickly became, not annoyed, but something close to it with a hint of disappointment, that he had once again been met with by silence from Derek. "Something wrong?" he finally asked. "No," Derek quickly replied, "I'm fine." _Of course you are. Well too bad for you that I'm not finished._ "Can we talk?" he continued. "What you're doing right now, it's hard to deal with." "Stiles," he wasn't rushing through his response this time, "We have a lot of work to do."

     It was tiring, trying to break through. Was he bipolar? One minute he's on the brink of coming out of his shell, the next he's sealed up. It was so inconsistent too. "I'm sorry, but, believe it or not it's not easy to keep acting this way." Stiles needed him to at least have some idea of how he was feeling. But then again, why was he trying? They haven't even know each other a day yet. Then again, _The apocalypse is unforgiving. Better to try diving into something._ As if Derek could hear his thoughts, he quickly covered the distance between them. He was inches away when his hands wrapped around Stiles' waist. Derek pulled their bodies together and kissed him. It was, firm, his lips pressing hard against Stiles'. Stiles felt Derek's tongue creep into his mouth, and he was concerned about their bodies being so close to each other. Even though Derek was becoming more and more confusing to him, he was without a question very arousing.

     It lasted a few seconds, before Derek pulled away from Stiles. He smiled, nothing of the cheek to cheek kind, but something subtle and ironically inviting. "Is that enough?" he simply asked before he returned to securing the perimeter. "Ok, what the hell?" Stiles replied. "This is the weirdest relationship anyone could possibly have." "You saying you didn't like that?" _Seriously? He's got to be bipolar._ "Well obviously I enjoyed it." "Once we finish all of this, at the power plant, we can talk. Alright?" _Hey, if he wants to talk, that's something, isn't it?_ "Sure thing Derek." "Hey guys, come to the boathouse. We found our new rides." "More good news."

 

     The pains she had come to know earlier this day paled in comparison to what she suffered in this moment. Her wrists and ankles were bound to this cold metal chair with rusty barbed wire, and a fresh gash on her forehead bled in a steady stream. A bright light bulb hung above her. To her left side was a door. It was quickly opened and closed, a single individual entering. Mr. Argent. "You really thought you'd get away?" he asked. "You thought taking out, what, half a dozen men, would be enough?" "I thought it was worth a shot." Cordelia muttered. "It was better than sitting around waiting to die." Mr. Argent ran his hands through his hair, and rolled his eyes at her. "More sympathizes and witches are coming to your rescue than we could've hoped for." he began. "You three have been very useful, and even though we've take a little dip in our, personnel, it's still been worth it all." His attitude was sickening. "Where have you taken Queenie?" she demanded with a sudden burst of rage.

     "It doesn't concern you." he quickly replied. "But, you should know that you and Misty are going to die, don't you?" "What about your bait? People don't chase corpses these days; it's the other way around." "Well, we already know that they're coming, and if we kill you, they'll never know until it's too late. To be honest, it'll be better to kill them. We don't need any troublemakers running around." _Bastard_. _Why would he kill innocent people?_ "No," she shouted, "You can't kill them, you don't have to!" He chuckled. "Don't worry; you'll still have a chance to fight. So will Misty."

 

     The world was all shrouded in a milky haze. Strange lights glimmered like distant stars, though their shining presence burned her eyes. The world was very quiet, quiet and cold. It was like she was in some kind of dry, metallic, womb? Was that the word? It hurt to think. It really hurt. A harsh noise violated the world, and it was in this moment that she realized her limbs were bound. "You awake?" The voice was so muffled, she felt like someone was holding their fingers in her ears. What was wrong with her? What did they do to her? She remembered sending an armed man flying across a room, overwhelming gunfire, and being struck in head. Her forehead throbbed.

     "You aware?" _Of what?_ "Where," she weakly muttered, "Where am, where?" "I guess it doesn't matter yet. By the time he dies you'll probably be coherent enough to put up a struggle." Death. This is a world of death. "You're going to die, he continued, "You know that, don't you?" "No." "Yes, yes you are. Now, how you're going to die is still up in the air." She felt sick. The thought of death was horrendous in her twilight state. "Come on," he shouted, "You can try to stay awake a little longer." The door opened again. It must've been the sound she heard earlier. There was one set of footsteps moving normally, and another moving frantically. "Get in here kid!" The new man was shouting. "You should never have come here!" "Please!" Misty assumed that he was their prisoner. "You don't have to do this!" _Shnk_. They stabbed him. They stabbed him, and their tormentors quickly left the room. She heard the door lock.

     "Oh my god," the prisoner cried out, "Why're you doing this?" "You," Misty muttered, "Who are you?" "What?" His cries were too loud for her weak voice to rise over. "Who are _you_?" "Misty Day," she replied, "I'm, I'm Misty Day. They gave me something." "They gave me something too." "I know, I know. You've been stabbed." "Yeah. They said they're going to let me die, so I can turn." "So they can kill me." Brutal. Sadistic. Monstrous. All of these words floated around in Misty's mind. Who was this person? Why would they kill him? No, no it was clear that he must've wandered into this place. So, execution? By infection? "Why did they do this to you?" he asked. "Did you wander in here too?" "No, I'm a witch." Silence. "They're witch hunters."

     How crazy she must've sounded, she could only guess. She was becoming lucid at a surprisingly fast rate, but she wasn't awake enough to use subtly. "A witch?" "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm not. I could save you, if I wasn't tied up." "Well I'm not exactly mobile either." She hadn't even realized that she was facing away from him. She struggled to turn herself over, and their victim was propped against the wall, blood staining a large area of his chest. She could see where the knife tore through his shirt. His hands were covered in duct tape, arms tied tightly against his sides, and his legs were cocooned in the tape. Where were these people finding all this tape?

     "How deep is it?" she asked. "Very," he replied, "It hurts." His face was already paler. "You have to fight it," she insisted, "If I, I come through, I can save us?" "You sound stoned." "I can do things with my brain. They don't like that." _Why? Why would she phrase it like that?_ "You sound crazy," he began, "But, hey, I'd rather believe that there's some way out of this than accept death." She smiled. It wasn't trust, but it was enough. "What's your name?" she asked. "Danny. My name's Danny." "Well, Danny, we can make it out of this. I don't know how, but I'm coming to fast enough. If I can free myself, I can save you. And then, we can help each other out." "I don't think I believe you. But, I'd like to think I have an option." "This big wide world can surprise you. Are there any tools in here?"

 

     "Alright," Stiles began, "My jeep and the truck are locked up. Hopefully they'll stay hidden and dry until we come back. We'll take the airboats as far down the river as we can. If we have to trek some of the way, so be it." "I don't think we're dressed for that," said Allison, "But we'll cross that bridge if it comes to us." "We do remember that it isn't just the undead, right?" asked Nan. "There are also the alligators." "Right," Scott added, "The feral ones that go crazy when they smell blood." "Well I think our more recent injuries have at least stabbed up," said Allison, "And unless any of us are on our flow, we should be safer. You're not on your flow," she was directing the question at Nan, "Right?" "No." "Well I know Lydia isn't," Allison continued. "Madison?" "Usually doesn't start until next week." she replied. "Though, I've lost many of my great panties to my period."

     "Well if the Red Sea isn't flowing forth," Stiles joked, "I say we get our feet wet. Kind of. It'll be the boats getting wet, but you get the idea." "That was almost cute." Madison teased. "But, you're right; standing here we're still acting as bait to all the lovely citizens of New Orleans." "Scott and I will start loading up the red boat." Allison announced. "Stiles, Nan, can you get the other one ready?" "Sure thing." Nan replied.


	13. Red

     "I've got it Danny." Misty held the mysterious object between her teeth. If she had not been sober, her speech would've surely been unintelligible. "What did it end up being?" he muttered. Misty could hear the strain in his voice. He was still losing a lot of blood, and there was essentially no means to stop it. She had to act fast, for both their sakes. "A straight razor." she replied. "Someone must've forgotten about it. Or maybe they used it for something more sinister and left it here." "It can't be sanitary." _No shit, and I'm the one who's holding it in my mouth_. "Not like we have a lot of choices here." she said aloud. "Sorry if I cut you at any point." "It's fine. Like you said, we don't have a lot of choices. How did they get you?" "I was with my friends," she raised her voice to be heard over the razor's cutting, "Other survivors. We were at this little park, Wetland Watchers I think, when we decided to split up to search the place. I was attacked and kidnapped."

     "What kind of people were you traveling with?" It hadn't even been a day. Every hour she was awake seemed to be stretched into an eternity. So much had already happened. It felt like she'd been separated from them for a lifetime already. "Good people." she finally replied. "Some of the best I've ever met. All teenagers, just a little younger than me." "I've been alone for a while." said Danny. "I lost my family early on." Misty only heard Stiles use that term when they were talking about the _very_ beginning, when the virus was sweeping through cities like wildfire, but before everything really started to collapse. "My family killed me." she said. "Or at least they tried to." "Shit," Danny exclaimed, "That's, horrible." "It was. I'm sorry about your loss though, I didn't mean to-" "No, it's fine. I brought up family. But, after that I travelled with strangers. I never felt right with any of them. And then one day a herd separated us, and I'm the only one that survived."

     From what she felt comfortable assuming, Danny wasn't someone who just got lucky. But he also didn't seem like the kind of person who did well on their own. Then again, in this world, how many people can make it on their own anymore? Numbers are everything these days, for the living and for the undead. "How long ago was that?" she felt inclined to ask. There was no reply. Danny's eyes were shut, and panic began to set in. Had he bled out already? No, no he couldn't have. He can't be dead.

   "Danny?" she shouted. "Danny!" His eyes slowly opened, full of life. "I'm still alive." he reassured her. "And, three months." Misty wanted to hug him. "Not many people could make it on their own that long," she began, "But I need you to keep your eyes open. I'm almost through the first layer." "I don't want to die here. I'll do everything I can to keep us both alive." It was so pitiful, the degree to which their ability to act was diminished. They were so helpless. "I'm wondering how they expected you to get to me if you're completed bound." Misty pondered. "It's not too sound of a plan."

     "Maybe I would've wormed my way to you." Danny suggested. "If I become one of them, I would do whatever I could to get to you." "God," she replied, "You're probably right. And, that would be horrifying." She could feel his eyes going over her, taking all of her in. "You've sobered up pretty quickly." he said with a tinge of curiosity. "I know, it's surprising for me too." Suddenly, the razor blade dipped into the tape, a louder tear erupted from the cocoon. "You got it?" "Yes!" she exclaimed. "And that hardly took any time at all. I'm worried about how we'll free our hands though." "I'll break a layer, and then start peeling with my teeth." "You're resourceful." "Stiles helped me in that department." _I'll have to thank him when I see him again. If I see him again_. She felt Danny's eyes on her again, but it was different this time. When she looked up, his eyes were wide, like she'd suddenly morphed into some fantastical creature.

     "Stilinski?" His single word sent a shiver down her spine, but for once not out of fear. "You know him?" She could feel her excitement building. "He's alive?" he replied. "Yes," she answered, "And, you probably know the others too then. Allison, Lydia, and Scott?" Though the color was severely drained from his face, it lit up with each name she spoke. "They're all alive?" "As recently as last night." "I thought everyone I knew was dead. I want to see them again." He had a motivation now. He had a reason to survive this room beyond self-preservation. "You will. We both will."

 

     Something broke the surface of the water, its sickly green scales quickly sinking beneath the murky river. "We have company." Stiles announced. "Just stay calm and don't attack unless you have to. We don't want to start a frenzy." The alligator had not left, though it had no chance of catching up to them. They could all see the water being affected by its presence, gentle waves rippling from its sinister form. It created a palpable tension in the air. They were being watched, they were sure of that now, but would the predators attack? It was worse knowing that not far beneath the alligators were the walkers that had become anchored to the riverbed. The fine line between life and death was even thinner in the water.

     Madison glanced at the shore, and there was a massive alligator sitting motionless at the water's edge. She felt as though it was looking at her; not the group as a whole, but her as an individual. No, no, it was definitely staring at her. Fear gripped her, running its cold fingertips down her spine, raising goosebumps all over her body. A shot of pain pierced her lower back, and she almost cried out. It wouldn't have been a reaction to the pain, but rather fear of what it meant. She assumed her cramps had been due to her recently poor diet. They hadn't been hauling in what one would call "nutritious" over the past month. But now, now another thought crossed her mind. The alligators had a vicious lust in their eyes, and their noses twitched accordingly. She loosened her pants, and when she lifted the fabric up there was a small, red splotch on her underwear.

     "Madison," Nan startled her, "It's happening right now?" "Shut up!" she whispered. "I didn't know, it never starts this early." "You need a pad, or a tampon." "We didn't pack any. Like I said, it never starts this early; I didn't think I'd need any." When Madison glanced back at the shore, she saw the mighty alligator's tail disappearing beneath the surface. Just as its scales became indiscernible through the murky depths, two more alligators breached off the airboat's port side. "More gators Stiles," Allison shouted out, "I count two. No, make that three."

     "Tell them Madison," Nan demanded, "Otherwise, they won't take any of this seriously." "Be sure to mark the calendar, because this is one of those rare times when I agree with you without arguing." "Another one!" Lydia called out. "Everyone!" Madison shouted. "My period started! I don't know why-" "Do you have anything to plug it up?" Derek asked. "It's not a bottle shit head," Madison barked in reply, "And no, I don't." "This is bad," Stiles chimed in, "I'm seeing more gators surfacing." "They're coming in from dry land too," Nan observed, "And those ones are all really big." "Don't fire unless we absolutely have to." Stiles commanded. "Scott, you're the gunner for us. You guys pick someone to defend and keep going. If we stop, it can get ugly really fast."

     Sometimes, Stiles thought that he himself was so etching supernatural. He had a bad habit of jinxing things. This was one of those times where, maybe, he could've kept his mouth shut. An alligator erupted from the river, mouth wide open and teeth as jagged and serrated as any other. Lydia quickly turned the airboat, but its mighty jaws locked onto the underside of the hull. There was a loud, metallic rip, and when the creature retreated beneath the waves the airboat had a massive hole in it. When the craft leveled out, the river made no hesitation in pouring itself through this opening.

     "Someone do something about that hole!" Lydia shouted. "Stiles, we're taking on water!" "More gators coming at us!" Madison announced. "Nan, pass me a weapon." Stiles could see the sweat beading on Scott's forehead, his body poising itself to leap at the other boat. "They'll be fine," Stiles assured, "We can make it through this. Lydia, how much water is getting through?" "Less now!" she replied. "The tear is huge, but it's jagged, and we're stopping most of it from getting in. We can't last forever though."

 

     "Well I think I'll be sleeping just fine tonight." The staff lounge was remarkably well reserved, considering it had gone for a year without any effort of maintenance or hygiene. The journey through the river was relatively simple, and entering the facility required only a little effort. "Yes indeed ma'am." And _that_ was the effort. There were two guards, but in the heat of the moment she decided it would be simpler for him to be dispatched. The other she spared, better to have something and not need it than need it and not have it. She could definitely use him. "I don't even have to worry about my grip slipping on the wolf." Marie began. "Well I do, don't even get me started, but your will is so weak it couldn't break through wet tissue paper." She chuckled. "Though for the others here I'd have to think the opposite. It's obvious the final showdown won't happen here. Can't worry about that now though, I'll cross the bridge when I damn well feel like it. You bring me something to eat in the meantime. I'm feeling very famished." "Yes ma'am." "And if you reveal my location I'll turn the inside of your head into scrambled eggs. We clear, mon Cher?" "Yes ma'am."

 

     Rounding a corner, something fell from an overhead branch. It flopped around on the deck beside Madison's feet, scales scraping against the metal. "Gator on deck!" Lydia shouted. It was a big baby, a foot long. It scampered around, snapping at their feet and hissing as though it were rapid and possessed. Madison fired a handgun, but the bullet missed and pierced the hull. "Goddammit!" She fired again, missed again. She fired once more, and only clipped the tail. Again, the bullet ripped through the hull. "Madison," Lydia shouted, "Shoot the goddamn lizard, not the boat!" "I'm trying!" This fourth bucket found its way into the young gator's head, and its body went limp. "He's down!" Madison announced. "I'm so sorry I couldn't hit it!" "It's not your fault," Allison insisted, "It was crazy. As for the holes, it would've happened at some point or another. Stiles! We need to get ashore now!" "I can see a clearing coming up ahead," he replied, "I think we should be able to make it!" "We're taking on too much water!" Allison continued. "Madison was trying to kill a baby and-"

     A tremendous eruption of murky water drenched Allison. Closely following the torrent were the mighty jaws of a massive alligator. The boat rocked and Allison stumbled, and the jaws clenched onto her left shoulder. Teeth sunk deep into her body, snapping bones and tearing flesh. The beast would've dragged her beneath the surface if Madison and Nan didn't react so quickly. They grabbed her body and slammed her against the deck, the starboard side sliding beneath the water. "Oh my god!" Allison cried. "Somebody help me! Kill it, kill it!" The girls wasted no time. Lydia leapt at the gator and dug her nails into its eyes. It released its grip, blinded and in pain, and in an instant the other gators swarmed him. "Son of a bitch!" she shouted. "Stiles, we're not going to make it!" "Yes you will," he replied, "Just keep going!" "What happened Allison?" Scott shouted. "Are you alright?"

     "I'm fine!" she replied. "I, I got bitten by one of them." "What?" Scott was frantic. "Keep your head on your shoulders," Stiles barked, "I can see a break in the trees, the shore's just a few hundred feet away!" "But what do we do once we're on land?" Nan asked. "They'll follow us!" "We'll deal with that in a few minutes. You guys are dead if we stay in the water."

     The brim of the boat was inching closer and closer to the water. The inside was sloshing with the filth, Allison's wounds adorning the disaster with crimson clouds and threads. "You're going to bleed out," Madison began, "We need to patch you up now. Do we have anything to help her?" "Use our clothes for bandaging," Allison suggested, "It's what we've always done." "We have some stuff to clean out the wound," Lydia added, "But, you could go into shock. This is bad Allison." "We've been through worse Lydia, and we always found a way to make it out alive. This time it's just a little more, challenging." Lydia's heart sank as she saw the color slowly drain from Allison's face. She refused to lose another friend. No, Misty wasn't lost yet. And neither was Allison. "Hold on you guys," she said, "I'm gonna blow the engine out." "Explain this new kind of crazy?" Madison asked. "Well we haven't been going as fast as we normally could because this shit is all old and borderline broken. I can give us a final boost of speed, but it'll blow out the engine. But, did we really plan on keying this boat." "Do it," Nan interrupted, "She's scared."

     The noise was, startling, to say the least. The mighty war of the speedboat finding new life so close to death was definitely something poetic to speak of, but no one had the time for that. The girls raced past Stiles and the other, crashing into the shore. There were thrown some distance, probably for the best, as the alligators were soon crawling onto land. Scott and Derek mowed them down as Stiles beached them, and the trio quickly grabbed all of their supplies.

     Madison and Nan had already started cleaning the wound by the time the boys arrived. She screamed as they poured, swabbed, and squeezed her wounds. "Allison," Scott was immediately by her side, "I'm so sorry." "It's not your fault Scott," she screamed through clenched teeth, "It could've happened to any of us." "Just as a friendly reminder," Derek interjected, "The gators are starting to charge." "From in front and both sides." Stiles added. "We need to head for those buildings before we burn through all of our bullets." "Then help us prop her up," Madison snapped, "Otherwise we'll all die here!" "Don't say it like that!" Scott shouted. "Well then how the fuck else am I supposed to say it?" "Stop fighting!" Allison begged. "Please, just make a decision!"

     Each one of them carried Allison and their gear. They were fast, but the alligators were clearly coming faster.

 

     Pain surged through her arm. There was even a tooth still embedded in her flesh. She glared at the corpse laid out in front of her, screwdriver embedded in its right eye. They must've punctured an artery when they stabbed him. He bled out so fast; there was no way she could've saved them both. Shit, who was she kidding? She always was a pitiful excuse for a witch. Her powers were easily surpassed by children, those decades younger than her. And how awful that was while sitting in the shadow of her mother, the Supreme. Fiona must be laughing at her down in hell. To be honest, where else would she end up?

     "I really don't want to die here." It was a horrendous environment. The room was cold, or maybe that was from her life draining from the bite? It was dark, and the lighting burned her eyes if she looked up at any angle. She was slouched against this hard wall, slouched over, pulling teeth from her arm. It was such a hard bite. It must've hit bone. "I'm such a failure as a witch, as a guardian to those girls. I couldn't protect them. And, I couldn't protect myself. We're going to drift into the darkness. We, those travelers in the dark, are lost. We'll be forgotten, and it'll be like we never existed." Everything weighed so heavily on her heart, but she couldn't cry. She was physically incapable at this point.


	14. Innovation

     "I'm such a failure as a witch, as a guardian to those girls. I couldn't protect them. And, I couldn't protect myself. We're going to drift into the darkness. We, those travelers in the dark, are lost. We'll be forgotten, and it'll be like we never existed."

 

     "Just get in the goddamn tree!"

     Stiles looked over his shoulder, seeing if Lydia's fiery command was in vain. Thankfully both she and Scott were able to hoist Allison up the tree, just as one of the gators snapped its jaws at her. Its jagged and festering teeth missed her legs by no more than an inch. They couldn't use their guns anymore, or at least nothing other than the shotguns. They had to think about surviving a firefight. Shit, they had to think about surviving the next few minutes or hours if the gators pursued them much further.

     His heart racing, sweat dripping from his brow, his mind was struck with curiosity. The alligators were behaving extremely violent and ravenous, more so than what they had seen in the past. These animals weren't simply rabid anymore. There was something more. But, the virus never affected animals. And if it did, these things would've been shuffling corpses. Maybe, maybe it mutated? How did viruses work? Could it jump across species? And if it could, was it just the alligators? Was the whole ecosystem now contaminated, fully and thoroughly?

     A quick _yipe_ pulled him from his thoughts. Nana caught her leg on a branch and fell face first into the overgrowth; thank god the asphalt wasn't exposed. "Help!" The gators should've been on her, but having witches on your side presented some serious benefits. Madison had her arms extended out, her force keeping the alligators away. Derek picked her up, and, _oh_ , carried her, and they resumed their run.

     "Where are we going?" Madison shouted. "Do we have a plan?" "Get into one of these buildings," Stiles quickly replied, "And barricade ourselves in. Then, we think of a way to get back to Scott and the others before Allison dies." "How are they this driven?" Madison asked. "It isn't even that much blood. Well, maybe Allison got them going, but still!" "No, it isn't natural," Stiles replied, "Something else is wrong with them." "Open door!" Derek cut left, and on the dime turn with Nan in his arms, and dove into a small flower shop. Stiles and Madison quickly followed chase. When they reached the shop, Derek was already sliding a shelf in front of the door. They slipped in and helped him secure the shop.

     The alligators clawed at the tree, tearing their paws open and spilling blood over the peeling trunk. The others started to consume the injured, but they did not give up on their pursuit of the humans. The bodies at the bottom of the tree were slowly piling up. Their jaws snapped closer and closer. "They're going to reach us." said Lydia. "We need to do something _now_." "I think you'll have to leave me." Allison suggested. "There's no way we can all make it out of this with me slowing you down." "Not an option," Scott quickly replied, "We all make it out of here. This group is not getting any smaller."

     Lydia desperately searched their immediate surroundings. She didn't want to let herself think it, but Allison sacrificing herself would greatly aid the rest of them. No, that was selfish reasoning. Just because it would be easier, she should die? No, they've endured the worst of New Orleans already and survived. _They_ survived. Something caught her eye. A power line was laced through the branches up above. It was a dead line, it had to be, and maybe it could be their saving grace. The tree was very close to an adjacent building.

     "Scott," she was already finding her grip on Allison, "Help me get her up." "What're you doing Lydia?" he asked. "There's a power line, a dead line. And, you're not going to like this plan. Allison, how much strength do you have in your good arm?" "Depends on what I have to do." "We tie one of us onto the line, and that person swings through that window." She pointed at the only window not boarded up or covered in overgrowth, a very wide frame that could easily allow a person through. "Once one of us is through," she continued, "That person will swing the line back, and we'll all get across." "That's about twenty feet across." Scott estimated. "I don't think you could throw it back across Allison." "Me neither," she replied, "But, I don't think I can tie myself up, so I'll take the chance. If, one of you is willing." "I'll go last," Lydia volunteered, "Since this crazy little plan was my idea." "Alright," said Allison, "You guys tie me up and help give me a good push."

 

     "Almost there Danny." The razor blade sunk through the tape, a clean tear through the tape binding his forearms. He pulled his arms apart, stretching the already sore muscles and cringing at his circulation flowing back through the limbs. "We're doing great," she continued, "Once you cut my hands loose I can save you." "I still don't think I believe you," he replied, "It's all a bit too, well, too good to be true." "Don't underestimate me," she began as she started on his hands, "I'm a lot more powerful than I look. People in this world never took me for much, always thought I was some dumb swamp rat. Family thought worse of me, especially when they decided to burn me. This new world treated me worse, but now? I'm gonna kick its ass."

     "Sorry," said Danny, "I didn't mean to offend." "You didn't hun; I'm just worked up is all. I want to get out of here, get back to my friends. I wanna save Cordelia too, and her other witch." "But we don't know where they are." "We'll find them." The razor split a layer of tape. Misty carefully released it onto the floor, and she gripped the loose end of the tape with her teeth. She jerked, twisted, and strained her head in all direction to pull the tape. Danny was growing weaker and weaker, so he wasn't of much help to her. She wasn't about to let him die though. Admittedly, she was more concerned about herself than him every other second or so. She didn't want to be eaten. The tape caved in to her will, strands coming undone, fingers wiggling beneath the ever thinking layers that sought to bring them both doom.

     She knew she could save them both.

 

     Finally, Allison decided to tie a rock to the power line. She threw it again, and this time it was able to cover the entire distance and then some. "Good thinking!" Lydia called out. "It's innovation like that that keeps us alive." "You mean throwing rocks like a caveman?" Allison replied. "I think you're getting tipsy," Lydia joked in return, "I'll be right over." "Wait," Scott grabbed her arm, "We don't have the meds we need." "What?" "I think we got the bags mixed up, Stiles and the others must have them." "Shit. Alright, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. At the risk of sounding morbid, we want Allison to live long enough to die from shock, or bleeding out, or whatever. Alright?" "Yeah, I understand. I'll help get you secured."

     _Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!_ "Jesus Christ," Madison exclaimed, "Why won't they stop? They shouldn't be trying this hard!" "There's no point in trying to figure them out," said Nan, "Let's just leave!" The door splintered and the head of a gator tore through, jaws and eyes invigorated by bloodlust. A quick burst from a shotgun put it down, and temporarily clogged the door. "Where?" Derek asked. "We don't have a lot of options right now." "Let's see if the back door is clear." she suggested. "I don't see why it wouldn't be," said Stiles, "So, why not?" Glass shattered, and the shelves they had propped against the windows rocked and shook. "Fine," said Derek, "Let's go out the back."

     The back door was clear, as Stiles has hoped, and they barricaded it behind them. The longer they could confuse the alligators, the better. They were mobbing, swarming, them, and it was like some surreal nightmare. Or, something out of a video game. He definitely wouldn't recommend it on a higher difficulty. "We have to make a wide arch," he began, "Pit enough distance between us and the shop so the gators won't catch on." "I think I've been through here before," said Madison, "When I was, um, that's not important. But, at the street we can go left and into the closest building at the end of the street. If we get to the roof we can hop across and back to your friends." "Sounds like a fun little workout," Stiles replied, "I'm in."

     They cleared the alley in a sprint, on the off chance that there were some alligators lurking. They almost didn't notice the herd, _herd_ , of walkers to the left, filling the street to the brim. "Holy shit," Nan exclaimed, "There's so many of them!" They broke into a steady sprint, the herd releasing its collective groaning and moaning as it turned towards them, shuffling along. "Tell me you know how to get in!" Stiles shouted at Madison. "Things just went from bad to completely fucked!" "There's a ladder on the outside!" she replied. "I don't think these things are all that great at climbing, so we should be fine." "A lot of things 'should' be a certain way," Derek barked, "But I don't think luck is really on our side today."

     Speak of the devil and he shall appear; as the lock on the metal cage surrounding the base of the ladder. The cage grid was too tight to fit fingers through. There wasn't enough time to use telekinesis to lift everyone over. Madison and Nan more than likely lacked enough strength to do that for everyone. Some of the gators had left the mob and were heading towards them as well. This, they all knew and saw, before actually reaching the ladder.

     "Goddammit Madison!" Derek shouted. "Don't fucking blame me; this was never here all the times I came by." "What the fuck were you doing here anyways?" "Is that really important!" "Stop fighting!" Nan screamed. "We need to find another way!" "No time," Derek interjected, "I'll have to break the lock." "You have the jaws of life in your back pocket?" Madison asked. "I'll do it by hand." "He's stronger than he looks," said Stiles, "Way stronger. He can get through. We just have to hope the walkers don't get to us."

 

     _Excellent wolf, just perfect! It'd be best to get both of the witches killed, but let's not risk too much. Besides, I still want the show during the full moon. At least make sure the clairvoyant dies._

     _"I'll stall as long as I can. I promise you that she'll die."_

_This'll make up for you letting your hormones get the best of you. Think with the head on your shoulders, not the one you've got down under._

 

     "Let's go down the hall!" As it turned out, the building the trio had launched themselves into was more than a little infested with the undead. Lydia and Scott helped Allison move along, each guarding one side of both her and themselves. The walkers were falling out of the ceiling, the doorways, and the walls. The building was falling apart and reeked of mold and decay. "We have to get to the roof," Lydia continued, "We can go across the rooftops and find someplace to hunker down." "I hope Stiles and the others are having better luck." said Allison. "I don't want to sound selfish, but it could really use some of our meds right now." "Don't worry," Scott assured her, "No one is going to die here."

     "I don't want to die like this," Nan sobbed, "It's slow and painful and you come back as one of them!" "Nan!" Madison slapped her. "Get a grip! We're going to make it, ok? We're witches, we're survivors. You won't be one of them." Nan wiped the tears and snot from her face. "Alright," she said, "Alright. I believe you." "Then again," Stiles interrupted, "The herd is close enough for us to smell them!" "You think I don't know that?" Derek snapped. "I'm doing the best I can!" "How could you have lifted the plow earlier, but this is getting the best of you?" "It's about precision Stiles, I'm doing my best!" An alligator roared, reading its head from around the corner of the building. "Shoot it!"

     Another burst from the shotgun ended the beast's rampage, but this time it was like ringing a dinner bell. They could the other gators roaring down the street, followed by the scratching and scraping of dozens of scaly, clawed feet. As this all unfolded, the herd began to make its final approach to them. Those at the front started to move faster, their need to feed propelling them forward, pushing them faster. Nan grew hysterical, and Madison could not calm her down.

 

     _Those walkers are close enough. Break the lock_.

 

     The lock fell to ground with a harsh _clank_ , and the cab opened. "Everyone climb!" Derek shouted as he scurried up the ladder. "Hurry!" Stiles was furious. Derek had left them with seconds to escape their attackers. There was no time to dwell on it now though, they had to move. He scrambled up the ladder, the confines of the cage making it difficult to go through the first eight feet. He felt trapped, claustrophobic. It didn't help when Madison followed so closely behind him. He could forgive it though; Nan was still on the ground, the walkers so close to her that she could actually be grabbed. Madison shoved herself beside Stiles, cramping them in the cage but giving Nan enough room to climb.

     "Move it Nan!" she shouted. "They're right behind you!" "I'm coming!" she cried. "Madison, help!" "Don't worry Nan," Stiles added, "You're going to make it, ok?" He didn't know if he believed himself though. They were literally at her feet, their fingers sliding off of her shoes. Jagged nails gripped the laces and broke off, but their palms were terrifyingly close to her. "You're lying!" she replied. "You don't think I'm going to make it!" "Nan you need to focus," Madison urged, "We're almost through the cage, see? Inside you're safe, they can't reach you!" Nan looked up. Her eyes were in an ocean, but she smiled. In truth, Madison wasn't sure if Nan would make it, but she knew enough to make herself believe in what she said. It would be enough to keep her going, to keep her focused. The walkers were crowding themselves at the bottom of the stairs. They couldn't get through.

     _They_ couldn't get through. In this new world, which has not yet existed for very long, there are a number of accepted constants. Of the many, the most important was that the walkers were stupid enough for even the most desperate of situations to become a survivable probability. When they herded, nothing else came near them. The savage people and raiders who populate the world turn tail and run, and even though you yourself may still be in mortal danger, it was easy to focus on one enemy. The alligators changed the game. In the midst of the commotion of the herd, they had slipped through. Madison saw it first, a huge individual with one blinded eye. At the base of the stairs it launched itself at Nan.

     She didn't scream when its jaws latched onto her legs. Her eyes grew wide, her skin pale. Her expression sent a knife through Madison's heart. It said, "You lied to me," it pleaded, "Please, help me," and it asked, "Why?"

     As it pulled her down her lips parted, a blood-curdling scream spewing forth. "No!" Madison cried. "No, Nan! No!" She started to climb down, but Stiles grabbed her arm. "Madison, don't!" Already Nan had been dragged outside the stairs, the alligator tearing through her legs while the walkers went for the remainder of her. "We can't help her." "No, Nan, no! Nan!" Stiles almost lost his grip trying to stop Madison. She was frantic, tears rolling down her face and her hands stretching out in a vain effort to save her. "Stiles let me go!" She was so frantic, wild emotions taking control of her. "Please, just let me go!" "I can't Madison." His own voice cracked, his vision blurring from tears. "She's, she gone."

     There was no screaming anymore, only their combined, heavy sobbing.

 

     _I couldn't protect them . . ._


	15. Waste

     Misty spat the tape from her mouth, and Danny's fingers were finally freed. "I did it!" she proudly exclaimed. "I did it!" "Don't let them hear you," Danny said with a smile, "I don't want all of that work to go to waste." Weakly, Danny picked up the razor blade and started on Misty's hands. "So," he muttered, "How exactly will you heal me? Is it just a, wave your hands and make me better sort of thing?" "Somewhat." she replied. "I also have some special mud in my boot to help." "That _really_ doesn't sound sanitary." "And again, we don't have many choices. It was good enough to turn me from a piece of charcoal back into a person."

     As he started to cut at her bindings, Danny decided to believe her. After all, there really want much of a reason not to. Furthermore, wouldn't it be easier to stop doubting? It's a lot more effort to maintain the thought that something is wrong than to simply accept it. The way she talked, it was genuine. She must be telling the truth. No more doubt, only full acceptance. "I trust you." he said aloud. "I trust you Misty. I didn't know powers like what you have exist. It was, hard, to accept what you're saying. But I want it to be true, so I believe it. I won't question you anymore." She smiled, a wide smile that lit her face up. "Thank you Danny. You'll see the proof soon enough."

 

     "You bastard!" Derek allowed Madison to slam her fists against him. Even he needed her to calm down, and if this is what she needed, so be it. "Why didn't you break the goddamn lock any faster? Nan's dead because of you!" "I did all that I could," he insisted, "But if it'll make you feel better, I'm sorry." "Sorry isn't going to bring her back. She was terrified and I couldn't help her!" She hit his chest once more before she fell to her knees, and then onto her back. "That was the worst way someone could die. An alligator eating your legs, while a bunch of rotten fingers and teeth tear through you."

     Stiles was working to collect himself. He knew why he lost his composure. Nan's death brought back painful memories of the early days of the infection, when friends and family were devoured before their very eyes. It hurt like no other feeling of loss could, but there was never anything they could do. They hadn't lost anyone this, dramatically, in months. It wasn't a feeling he missed, and one he wished wouldn't plague him again. Madison did have to pull it together though. It would've been easy to act tough and tell her to suck it up. But this wasn't the time. She would be getting more emotional soon enough, and right now? It was a tricky situation.

     "Madison," he began, "We can't lose it, not now. We've all lost someone close to us. My mom died way before all of this happened, and my dad was all I had left. Then, they took him from me. But I wasn't alone. I had my friends. Then they started to die too. It never gets easy. But we still have people here with us. We don't forget the ones who die, we move forward to live for them." He had to stop himself before he dove into a full blown motivational speech. It seemed to have _some_ effect on her. She had sat up, and she didn't appear hysterical anymore.

     "I'm a bitch." Madison began. "I know it, and I'm not sorry for it. For so long I didn't care about anyone. I was selfish, but I knew it. This world didn't want that attitude to change. But, Nan started to get to me. I guess it took the end of the world for me to see things in a different light. I could never admit it, but I really liked her. She was like a little sister to me. I wanted to be protective of her, but I couldn't. I always felt like it'd be too much. I don't even know what I mean by that. She looked me in the eyes when that gator bit her. I couldn't give her what she wanted, what she needed."

     She sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. "The only positive I can pull from this is that she won't become one of them." Her face twisted with pain. "There isn't going to be anything left." She quickly rose to her feet. "I'll never forget this." Fire in her eyes, she directed herself at Derek. "At least for the time being, this is _your_ fault, and I'm not going to hear anything more about that." She turned her back to him; she was only facing Stiles. "We're going to find the people whose fault it is that it's Derek's fault that Nan died." A bit of a mental tongue twister, but her intent was clear. Admittedly, Stiles was upset with Derek. He couldn't believe that he would want them dead, but how did he fumble so seriously? He was overthinking things, or, at least he hoped he was. He certainly picked an interesting man to become infatuated with. There was some sort of mutuality in it, sexually at worst though that would be good enough for him, which he wanted to delve into. Yet with a fresh death, his flip flop personality, _and_ the overall stress of this situation, there was no time. He was disappointed, but knew that there would have to be a time for them. There had to be.

     "Move it!" They turned and saw, about six rooftops away from them, Lydia and Scott almost tossing Allison out of a door while they slammed it shut, a tremendous uproar of groans and scratching following them. "Help us!" Lydia shouted. Madison forced herself to join Derek and Stiles as they rushed to their aid, tearing other roofs up to block the walkers. After a minute of hard work, they were confident that it would hold long enough for them to escape.

     Now that things had settled, the group collectively came to Allison's side. "You still have your bags," Scott began, "Right Stiles? Because, you're the ones who have the heavyweight medical supplies." "Yeah," Stiles replied, "Here you go." Scott immediately began digging through the bag, handing painkillers, bandages, needles, and more to Lydia, who applied them to Allison the best she could. It was an operation really, with sewing needles and thread serving as her makeshift stitches. They were so caught up in trying to save her that they didn't even notice.

     "Hold on," Allison said with clenched teeth, "Where is she?" "Who?" Lydia asked. Then, she noticed too. "Wait, where's Nan?" Silence. Dead, silence. _Dead_. It didn't need to be said. Lydia and Allison laid their eyes on Madison. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, her face still wet from her hysteria. "Oh my god," said Allison, "I'm so sorry Madison." "It wasn't your fault," she said as she held back another wave of tears, "It, it-" She looked at Stiles. He begged her not to. She wanted to. She wanted to direct her emotions at something, someone, she could hold responsible. She _needed_ to.

     "It wasn't anyone's fault. There was a lock on the ladder, and Derek broke it. But, they were following too closely. We didn't all make it up." Stiles felt guilty. She strangled her emotions, bottled them up and threw them away. She deserved to be upset. But, no, she didn't. They didn't have time for this. "We won't let her death be in vain." Allison assured her. "We know too well what it's like to lose people we love. We won't." "To be brutally honest," Madison replied, "That doesn't really mean shit. She died a painful and horrible death. But, I do appreciate your kindness. I can't just get over something like this, not anymore. But, I want us to accomplish something. All of this will have to have been worth something."

 

     "Spalding I can't stand this dreadful wait, I should never have let them leave!" Myrtle was on the verge of hysteria. In truth, nowhere near enough time had passed for genuine concern to find justification. Spalding, in his mute state, continued about his duties. He poured her some tea, but her fingers never came close to the cup. The two briefly made eye contact. "I know," she continued, "Our beloved Cordelia and Queenie can't simply be left alone out there. But it is such a terrible world, and Nan can be so fragile." Her stomach knotted at the thought of Nan being hurt, or worse. The "worse" of this world was so horrendous, so tragic. A moment of guilt afflicted her for not thinking about Madison. "I know," she said in "reply" to Spalding, "You're right, worrying won't help."

   She grabbed her cup and strode to the windows. She parted the curtains with her free hand and gazed out on the shuffling corpses. "Oh they're so restless today." Her thoughts suddenly shifted. "I know what I'll do!" she proudly declared. "Spalding, fetch my stash." The mute attendant departed, returning after a short minute of searching. He placed the burlap sack on the countertop, and Myrtle's hands quickly emptied its contents before them. "Yes," she said, "There should be enough here. Oh thank the heavens for the small scrap of electricity we've managed to keep. Spalding, I'll make the two of us a nice key lime pie. And then when the girls return I'll make another one for them. Oh, there is never too much pie."

 

     Tears rolled down her cheeks. She had removed the tooth from her arm, and tied a tourniquet around it to slow the bleeding. This was all surface stuff. She could feel her veins carrying the bite's poison through her body. It wouldn't be much longer. "Auntie Myrtle?" Where was she? She needed her. "Please, I'm scared. I'm so scared and I don't know what to do!" She wanted comfort. Anything, anything! The warm touch of another person would be enough to give her peace. All she had was the corpse, the man she had to kill so that her own death might be delayed. "I'm so worthless," she mumbled, "But I felt like I had a chance when you were around." She smiled. "You were so, outlandish. But there was some strength to you, especially after the world ended." Her mind wandered back many years, to the day Fiona left her on the steps of the school. The world she knew had ended, and her own mother brought it on. Myrtle was a light in the darkness.

     "It's cold." Her skin felt clammy. "I don't like it. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I'm completely losing it." Her mind seemed to be under more distress than her body. It must've been some subconscious reaction to this inevitability of death. There was no way she could keep her composure. "Am I really going to die like this, without a shred of dignity? I don't want it that way." _Worthless._ Her mother's voice resonated in her head. She used to try to keep track of how many times she would use that word. She lost count sometime after she was well into the triple digits. "Then again," she continued, "What _was_ my life? This should've been so obvious to me." The tears stopped rolling. Maybe this would be what's best for her. At least she could accept it now, finally and completely. She was, in every sense, worthless. And soon, she would be nothing. Nothing, but another shuffling corpse.

 

     It became an annoying game almost instantly. They walked along the edge of the roof, and the gators took their different paths of pursuit, the walkers clinging to them like toddlers. "Dammit." said Stiles. "The gators are like cattle drivers. They lead the herd wherever they go." "I don't think we can just make a break for it." said Lydia. "Allison, you wouldn't even be able to keep up if we tried." "I definitely wouldn't make it," she began, "This is really hurting. But it's got to get worse before it gets better, right?" "Your arm," Scott replied, "Of our situation?" "Both." "Well regardless of what we'd want to do," said Lydia, "We're too bloody. We have to wait." "We can't do that." said Stiles. "Every second we waste is another chance for them to kill our friends."

     "They won't kill them." Derek declared. "Not yet at least." Tensions were running high. Madison shot a look that could've strangled one's soul. "How do you figure?" Scott asked. "You're the one who said time is our enemy." "I know, and it still is. But, we can't take such huge risks that we won't be able to fight when it really matters." The worst part of it all was that he was right, or he spoke like he was. Stiles didn't want to feel this way about him, but he couldn't shake it. He could, however, at least find credibility in the thought that this attraction was purely sexual. It would make much more sense. A hand's a hand, but him? Now, why was his mind going _there_ right now? If Nan's body was still in one piece, it wouldn't even be cold yet. "I agree." he finally said. "Allison, you need to rest. We don't want to antagonize anything. And, Madison, I think we should mourn." "I guess," she replied, "But it isn't gonna bring her back."

     Her eyes suddenly grew wide. "I think I have a plan." Her entire attitude changed. "Yeah?" Stiles asked. "When we change your bandages," Madison continued, "Let's get as much blood on them as possible and ball them up. Then, when night comes, we can throw the blood balls all over the place, and it might be enough to confuse the gators." "Sounds reasonable." said Allison. "Might as well find some way to make this injury less of a burden." "I don't like the idea of waiting around for so long," said Scott, "But hey, what other choice do we have?" "Not much unfortunately," Madison replied, "But any choice is better than no choice. Now I don't want you to go into shock, but Allison, let's make sure those holes aren't _completely_ plugged up."

 

     It looked like shit. "It stinks." said Danny. "Well it's got a little more boot sweat than I would normally use." Misty joked. "But don't go blogging about the secret recipe, but there may or may not be alligator shit." She slathered the mud on Danny's cut, gently rubbing it in. "Is it supposed to feel like this?" he asked. "Like what?" "It feels, oddly soothing. It isn't something I know how to describe." This was good. No, this was perfect. "That means it's already working," she began, "That you're going to get out of here with me. And we'll see Stiles and the others."

     She mumbled incantations to herself, accelerating his healing along and almost instantly bringing some color back to his face. "You are magical," he said, "Aren't you?" "You tell me. Your color's coming back to your face." Misty could tell that he was feeling himself getting better. His posture grew stronger, and his sense of despair evaporated. "Oh my god, this is incredible." "Don't thank me." she quickly said. "You don't have to." "But you saved me." "You did just as much to save us as I did. If you hadn't cut through the tape, we would've both died." "But you found the razor."

     "We're a team now." she began. "We'll look after each other, and get back to our friends. People don't do that good on their own. We work together, and that's how we climb out of this. Sometimes it's a slow crawl, sometimes we get held back. But as long as there's someone else there, we can make it." "I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I don't know if we'll live long enough to-" "Don't." she interjected. "It'll all be fine. We're not going to die like this."

     The door swung open, and a deafening gunshot rang out. Danny went limp in an instant, the life Misty had so carefully been pumping into him being ripped away. She screamed in horror, a shriek horrible enough to freeze the blood in the devil's veins. A man slammed the butt of some rifle into her, and she was knocked back with barely an ounce of consciousness left. "We're leaving." Mr. Argent announced. "Pack her and the firestarter up." Misty couldn't resist, and she slipped away from the world into her brutal sleep as her assailant dragged her away. "Mr. Argent," another one began, "Could you please give some kind of reason?" "I already told you. I think we can use their friends to find more witches hiding in the city." "We already know that the academy burned down, where else could they be?" "I don't know! But this one wasn't with the school either." The curious one realized the others had left, sensing that Mr. Argent was not in a mood for this line of questioning. "I'll get her onto the truck." He quickly left the room.

     Alone with the corpse, he withdrew the images from his pocket. With that scout dead, he was the only one who knew what they found. There she was, amongst all the others he had seen her hanging out with during and after school. Alive and well, if a little weathered by the world, his daughter was walking amongst his enemies. "Baby. What are you doing with these people? She can't possibly know." He found himself wondering what exactly he meant by that. Maybe she did know that there was something, supernatural, with their new acquaintances. But she _could not_ know what he was. Then again, why not? He would've told her one day. In fact, he planned on doing so on that tomorrow almost a year ago. But, then the first broadcast went out. New Orleans started to panic, and she needed him to keep her grounded. "Shit. What'll she think of all of this? I've gotta ease her into it. She'll have to understand. I don't want to have to kill her."

     A hazy cloud suddenly enshrouded his head, and it felt like something punched his temples. It felt like a pair of iron fists slammed into his face, and his mind went blank in an instant. "But you will." He turned around, against his will, to see someone he only heard of in stories. Marie, the Voodoo Queen, stood before him as his new master. "Now honey," she continued, "I don't want you to stop what you're doing, but they're _all_ gonna die. Every witch bitch and each of their little friends." She felt him strain, and his body trembled. "Don't fight it. I could split your head like a melon." She couldn't maintain this grip forever. If she wanted a permanent link, she'd have to let Derek go. All she needed was a minute of obedience, enough time to plant the intention in his mind. After that, he would see her line of thinking as his own. The trembling ceased after a few seconds. Marie felt a wave of relief sweep over her as his mind and body kneeled. His lips parted. "Yes ma'am."


	16. Rooftop

     The sun started to lazily drift downwards on the horizon. Golden, bloody rays of sunlight painted the landscape and clouds. It wouldn't be much longer, a half hour at the most, before night fell, and Madison's plan could be tested. They were killing time, balling up the gory band aids, performing equipment checks, checking inventory, throwing rocks at the walkers. They had said some words for Nan, even though most could not say much.

     _We didn't know her for very long, but she seemed like a gentler girl. That's not something that you see much of these days. It would've been refreshing to have someone like her around. Nan, you didn't pass peacefully, but I know you're in a better place. Whatever comes next, you're going to see the best of it._

Lydia always had a way with words. Well, maybe that was a generous statement, though even in those days when she was stuck up and, abrasive, she had a way of saying the wrong thing in just the right way.

     Derek was sitting on the edge of the roof, and though Madison was busy doing something with their gear bags, she looked ready to push him over the edge. Stiles didn't blame her. In fact, maybe Derek deserved it. But, no, there was no reason Stiles could fathom that would explain why he would want to kill Nan. As unlikely as it seemed, it had to simply be as he explained. That wasn't easy to accept, and in truth Stiles didn't accept it, but his mind pushed him to address other matters. He spent more time thinking about his attraction to Derek as simply being his overly hormonal body needing something _real_. He felt embarrassed thinking about it being anything beyond that. That's all it could be. That's all it had to be.

     Regardless, graduating from his hands seemed impossible. Derek behaved unpredictably when the two of them got close, and not much had been done about it. Then again, there wasn't really much time to go any further. Things were in a brief dead period. The only reason Scott and Allison hadn't vanished was the present she got from the alligators. Then again, he felt pretty damn terrible thinking about all of this so soon after a major death. Were they really that numbed to it? Actually, why were they not more jaded? They'd seen just about everything in the past year, the worst of humanity and the worst of the undead. They'd lost so many people, shouldn't it be second nature?

     Maybe, instead, they were simply tired of it all. Literally being surrounded by death is no way to live. Their subconscious probably longed for more, though their thoughts and actions are confined by the need to survive. _Bullshit._ Those confines break time and time again, human emotion being thrown like a brick to shake things up. And that's where his feelings come in, isn't it? Thinking with the wrong head? But who else would give a shit but himself? Derek maybe.

     It was foreign territory, this line of thought. He needed to do something, anything, to distract himself. Madison. He noticed that she had left whatever it was she was doing in the bags and had started creating the blood balls; the bait. It would be a distraction, he'd be doing something to improve their situation, and he could get a better sense of Madison's state. He hurriedly joined her, near the ledge overlooking the setting sun. Her face was not as wet anymore, but the streaks of water that remained glistened. The rest of her face shined brilliantly, a glow juxtaposed to the emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Her hands were coated in a thin layer of blood as she worked with the bandages.

     "What?" Before he said anything, and without her turning her head to him. "I know you probably want to be alone," he replied, "But, I wanted to, know if you needed any help." "Balling up bloody bandages?" she snapped. "Unless you can give me a French manicure after this I think I'm fine." "Well I think Allison let me try painting her nails with this gloss, but it was this thing called _matte_ , and it didn't go well." A chuckle. It sounded like she was so appalled at his transgression that she couldn't respond in any other way. "Then there's no way you're coming near these nails."

     She shoved a handful of the bandages into his hands. "You can get to work on those though." "Right, at least our nails will be matching then. _Coagulation Red_ has a certain ring to it." "I don't feel like being too happy right now Stiles, even if we are talking about nails. And I think, _Ravage Me Red,_ has a better ring to it." "Well if I knew we were trying to make it sound sexy." A smile crept on her face now. She acted as though it had snuck up on her, and she quickly forced it away.

     "Stop." It was more like a plea now, not a demand. "It doesn't feel right." "I'm not trying to force you to be happy. Honestly, I came over here because I needed something to do or someone to talk to before I lost my mind." "You barely knew her. Why're you so upset?" "I-" "Wait, I know why. You feel something for that guy, don't you?"

     _What the fuck? How the fuck did she know that?_

     "I'm not a clairvoyant, or at least I don't think I am. Nan heard you, and she told me." "I honestly don't even know what it is. I honestly might just be horny." "If I got a dime for every time I said that, I wouldn't have needed my acting career to become a millionaire." "I'm serious though." "And I never said I doubted you. I understand your reasoning too, that being with me your mind wouldn't possibly find it appropriate to fantasize, which seems to be just about the worst thing you could do right now."

     She was much smarter than she led on, and she already seemed to be smarter than the media would've had one think. Stiles felt embarrassed now. He didn't want to think he was so transparent, and indeed he probably wasn't. They were witches, they had insights he couldn't even begin to dream about. They must be great liars in their later years.

     "It isn't." she continued. "It would be if I was the one fantasizing." Again, she continued to prove how little she seemed to show of herself. "I don't understand." he replied. "Then let me explain. Nan, Nan is dead. She was like a sister to me. If I, hours after her death, began fantasizing at that asshole, it would be the most despicable thing imaginable. But, there isn't any way that this could be framed to make it your fault. Don't start sucking on his face in front of me or sucking him off while I'm in hearing range, but, I won't hate you for it."

     "However," she quickly continued just as his lips parted, "If at any point something surfaces to even imply that Derek wanted to kill her, to kill us, I will end him right then and there, with every ounce of power I have I will destroy him." If anyone had asked, Stiles would've sworn to god that the air got colder. There was no breeze, and it literally felt a few degrees colder around them. "I-I understand." he stuttered. “But I don't think you have to worry about me making a move any time soon." "Good," she said, "Because you've literally done nothing with the bandages and they're starting to stick to your skin."

     "Madison's taking Nan's death really hard." said Scott. "What can you expect?" Allison asked. "She was right there when it happened. You remember what that was like, don't you? When they were just beyond our reach, and there was nothing we could do for them?" "It's been a while," he replied, "And it's not something I like to revisit." "But regardless of what happened to Nan," Lydia interjected, "She's able to pull herself together when it matters. We don't have to worry about her. All we need to worry about is making sure you'll make it through this, Allison."

     "I really don't want to be a burden." she said. "I hate having the thought that I'll weigh the group down, that I'll slow us down, that I won't be able to fight when the moment comes." "But that kind of thinking isn't helping you heal," said Lydia, "So just relax, alright? You're no burden. We've held it together with people who were in far worse shape than you." "But if I go into shock, it could all be over. You'll have to put me down." "Allison." Scott interjected. "It’s true," she continued, "You know that took us to the point of no return. We know we all have it. Shit, maybe I'll get something else from the gator."

     "Stop." Lydia demanded. "You are going to be fine. That I know. You know how I know that? Because I decided long ago that I'm tired of losing people, and I'm tired of seeing people lose themselves. Allison, you've been strong with us through this whole thing. It was rough in the beginning, I remember that. But I was the one who didn't think I could go on, and you were the one saying I could. Do not lose that spark now. If I could ask for only one thing from you it would be that. Don't give in. It isn't easy, but when was it ever?"

     "It was easier in the beginning to be honest." Madison began. "The world was crumbling faster than anyone could report it. People were dying left and right, and then they got up and ate the people who didn't die already." "But how was it easier?" Stiles asked. "We had to get used to the dead standing up and attacking us, and the virus spread like wildfire." "It was probably easier for me because I'd already seen the worst the world had to offer. I knew how to shut it out, isolate myself from it all. Luckily, the school was a pretty easy place to do that in."

     "Miss Robichaux's Academy, right?" "For Exceptional Young Ladies. I was certainly exceptional, and an exception." "Speaking of that, who was it that said it burned down?" "Cordelia, our, teacher, guardian, whatever title you want. Fires were going up and people had long since left that part of New Orleans, so she thought a little disinformation would do us good." "To make the world think you were dead?" "Not so much the world, but the witch hunters, the ones who've taken our friends." _Hunters_. The word felt strange on his tongue, to use it in such a way. People hunting people; not just any kind of people either.

     "Was there ever a reason?" he asked. "Technically, yes," she replied, "But having tradition and ignorance justify persecution makes about as much sense as flying to the moon on unicorn farts." He couldn't help but crack up. The mental image alone . . . "Sorry," he managed to utter amidst his laughter, "But that was totally unexpected." Another smile snuck its way onto her face. "It was pretty, weird, wasn't it? Stiles, thanks." He stifled his laughter, because that brief moment of comedic atmosphere was over.

     "For what?" he asked. "For talking to me. I honestly do feel better now. It'll hurt for a while, but shit like this will make it bearable." "For what it's worth, I do want to say that I'm sorry, again." "From you, it's worth just a little more than the rest."

 

     _Listen to me very closely. We've left the nuclear plant._

     "Why?"

     _The leader of these hunters saw his daughter amongst those kids you_ _’re traveling with_.

     "Which one?"

     _The brunette, Allison. They're moving out with the witches, and they're going to eventually make their way to the school._

     "So what do you want me to do?"

     _Keep them alive, actually, except for Allison. If they opportunity presents itself, kill her._

     "Madison already doesn't trust me. This could risk everything."

     _Then make it seem less obvious. Make it seem like an accident you couldn't control. But on another matter, and quite coincidentally, they should be arriving at the house by tomorrow evening._

     "So we let the battle happen, and then I clean up once the dust settles."

     _That lacked conviction._

     "I'm fine Marie."

     _Like hell you are. Don't let my influence cloud your judgment. This kind of control affects certain emotions; you don't actually feel anything for that boy._

     "You're the voodoo expert."

     _Queen. But yes, I do know what I'm saying. This'll all be over soon and that mind of yours won't have to worry about being so unbearably stupid anymore._

     "Yes ma'am."

     _Au revoir, mon cher._

 

     The bait balls were, disgusting. The blood took on so many different forms, almost scanning in some places and runny in others. Their hands were coated in the various incarnations, and there was a coppery scent that seemed to stain their noses. On each ball Stiles and Allison had decided to secure a heavy piece of wood or rock to it, in order to give themselves more distance between the ravenous creatures below. With the rate at which Allison was bleeding, they managed to assemble a dozen of the balls. Neither one of them wanted to get their clothing any bloodier, so they carefully carried the balls to the rest of the group, sans Derek who remained at the ledge.

     "Glad to see my blood go to good use." said Allison. "It's like donating, in a really fucked up kind of way." "Fucked up indeed," Stiles added, "Especially since they're going to be gobbled up by our friends down there." "You know we'll probably have to attack tonight?" Lydia asked. "I mean, I don't see the point in finding some place to camp out, and risk having something else draw to us." "Are we sure about that?" Scott asked. "I feel like, now, that maybe waiting until it's actually tomorrow would be better."

     "No," said Allison, "We go tonight. Scott, I'm not going to be a burden. We will go in, kick some ass, shoot some guys, and get our friends back. And then, once we have them and we're safe, we'll go from there." "You've got good spirit." said Madison. "I can honestly say that it's something I admire." "Thanks. You should say that to Lydia too. I don't know why I was slipping away, but she reminded me of my strength." "We don't need to start this." Madison interjected. "We're a group. Friends might be a little much at this point, but we're all together because we want to survive and thrive.

     "We'll look after each other, and get our friends back. It goes without sharing that people don't do that good on their own anymore. But if we're anchors for each other, that's how we'll climb out of this. Sometimes it'll be a slow crawl. Sometimes we'll get held back. But as long as there's someone else there, we can make it." "And that was about as epic as they come these days." said Stiles. "If that can't inspire and untie humanity, then hey, maybe we should let this thing get rid of us." "Especially with a movie star being the speaker," Scott added, "Who couldn't find that inspiring."

     "Alright boys that's enough," Lydia announced, "You don't have to flatter her." "Though I wouldn't mind it," Madison added, "Just save it for the victory party." "Let's pack up." Lydia continued. "Once we throw these balls, and if they follow them, we need to get off the roof as fast as we can." "Derek," Stiles called, "We're packing up, get over here!" "Alright," he shouted in reply, "Don't yell at me!" "He'll be here soon." said Stiles. "Madison, let's see where we should throw these things.”


	17. Boom

     The ravenous hordes reacted just as Madison had hoped they would. One by one they threw the bloody balls and rags, and the alligators lured the walkers every which way they flew. Bloodlust blinded the reptiles, so that whatever sense of primitive reasoning or logic they might've possessed was overpowered by an unnatural need to feed. _Unnatural._ As a group there seemed to be an unspoken yet shared sense of bewilderment. Each one of them wanted to know _why_ the alligators were so, different, but there was no time to extract and answer.

     Gear slung over their shoulders, they wasted no time in escaping the rooftops. To get down, they returned to the ladder which had taken Nan's life. The blood was still fresh, and a very skeletal pile of gore laid only a couple of feet from the ladder's base. As the others began to descend the ladder, the tombstone, Stiles glanced at Madison. She had had allowed herself to fall to the back of the group, and he saw her face twisting in agony. Tears began rolling when she met his gaze, and she quickly turned her back to him. Emotionally she had not leveled out, but they needed her. They were essentially down two able bodies, and she was very able.

     "Madison," he began as Derek descended down the ladder, "I don't want you to forget about her death or get over it. But, I do want you to be able to keep it together. It's about to get a lot harder for all of us and we need you." "You know you chose your words wisely." she quickly replied. "If I was about to get a lecture like the one you said you wouldn't give me, I might've flipped out." _Is that a threat? Seriously, I can't tell._ "It's hurting more than I feel like it should. Shit, that's probably just my body throwing itself out of balance. I don't want to see her."

     "And you don't have to, but, we need to get down. You don't have to look, no one will make you." "And I still need something to blame. I can't accept that after this much time, the world would just rip her away from us." "Madison," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Please, we can deal with this later." "There may not be a 'later' Stiles," she snapped, maintaining a whisper, "You should know that." "If you do find more reason to think he wants us dead, fine, go ahead, do what you think is right. But right now we have to move before things get worse."

     "Hey," Lydia's head was peeking above the roof, "Could you two maybe, I don't know, hurry?" "A friendly conversation." Madison said with a forced smile. "Sorry about that." Lydia ducked back down, and Madison followed her. "Stiles," she continued, "Regardless of whether I'm right or wrong, he does need to be watched." She was right. He hated everything about it but she was right. He didn't want to give the walkers or gators any more of a chance to wise up, so he quickly followed the girls.

 

     _Help me._

The undead soul touched the dead shell. In these strange times, the concept of death finds itself challenged day in and day out. In these days, when for so long the flesh and the minds of the dead had defied their very name, the boundaries blurred.

     Get up, walk _._

     Then there were the special cases, and the mysteries still refusing to fully reveal themselves. But perhaps it is not their own decision to remain hidden. Perhaps their hand is forced, a card played in which they lost the bet.

     _I will not repeat myself._

     The corruption that had caused humanity to lose its mother Earth corrupted everything of the body. The blood, the bones, the red jellies turned black by decay, it was all made filthy.

     _Walk._

But of the soul? In corrupted death, it was impossible to say whether it was trapped in the rotting vessel, or released and forced to watch as its home was ruled by something inferior.

     But there is not only the complete corruption of the body, but of the soul as well. That which was kept in the shadows, losing a bet through choices that were not its own, finds the thinnest threads of freedom in the new world.

     Cutting diagonally across a wide range of terrain was not the easiest task, especially as night eclipsed day. The shadows that had been stretched to their limits now spread out over everything. The waning sunlight seemed to retreat by the pace of their steps, so that every foot of progress saw a darker filter. At the moment, they moved through thick overgrowth, too thick for the walkers to ever get inside. It was not the fastest way to the nuclear plant, but it was the safest. It was not the easiest way either. The flora pricked and scratched them, and they had to soften their movements. If they moved at a hasty pace, the rustling and rattling would paint them a very obvious target. They didn't want to use the machete yet either; it wasn't dark enough.

     Being the largest of the group, Derek was taking the lead. It was easier for him to open up passages through the overgrowth, and he didn't seem as bothered by the marauding flora. Stiles followed closely behind, perhaps a little too close. After him was Scott and Allison, the two essentially being a single entity. One would not go without the other, and the other couldn't move on her own. At the tail end of the chain there was Lydia and Madison. The two girls kept a watchful eye on the path they were leaving behind them. Nothing was getting through, at least not without causing a huge disturbance, but it wouldn't be wise to dismiss the possibility altogether.

     By the time they had reached the end of this thick patch, the sun had vanished from the sky. The warm colors had receded entirely, and now only the light of the stars and the moon accompanied them. Stiles had to look up. He loved it when, in the middle of a forest or campsite, he could look up at the sky and see the galaxy looking back. The moon was nearly full. With essentially no light pollution anymore, it was a majestic sight. There was a thin sliver missing on one side of the sphere. By tomorrow evening it would definitely be full, shining in its complete brilliance for a world too dead to appreciate it. Unable to continue with subtlety, Derek snapped the branches off one of the bigger trees, and opened a hole out of the undergrowth.

Their pace had picked up after leaving those cramped confines, and they were moving very silently through the opening. On one hand, there was nothing for an enemy to hide behind. On the other hand, there was nothing for you to hide behind if an enemy appeared. It was a shell; Stiles lead the front, Lydia the rear, Scott and Allison the center, and Madison and Derek on either side. He didn't need to look back to guess Allison's state. Her face was probably twisting with pain, but she knew when Scott was focused on her. That's when she would change the expression completely. Fake it 'till you make it. If Allison hadn't subscribed to this philosophy already, perhaps she should take the time to consider it. She could be its paragon.

     They were making good progress, and the monsters that go _bump_ and _growl_ in the night were almost completely absent. The likely explanation was that their incident had drawn most of the predators in the area into the herd. The few stragglers were silently cut down without incident.

 

     People bury the dead. The soul has departed, and the physical vessel is lowered beneath the surface. Sometimes it is presented as it is to the Earth, no protection from the worms, the bacteria, the animals that will in time leave nothing but the bones and the memories, and those too will one day die.

     Other times their bodies are secured in coffins, finally laying down in a bed that will see them through their journey of slowed decomposition.

     Sometimes the coffins are not meant for the dead. That which finds itself within the wooden binds is still very much alive and well, though it is up for debate as to whether or not it can be considered alive.

     "That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die."

     Lovecraft is fortunate, to not see what the world has fallen into. Granted, it may have been a plot that would not be too distant from the spirit of his literature; perhaps more madness and ancient aliens, and less undead? Eternally it would lie there, beneath the soil, beneath the streets, beneath the buildings, beneath the people suffering death in a thousand different ways. And, were it up to the nature of its being, it would see death itself die.

     But whether truly living or not, it stirred in the coffin. Patience had died long ago. Every additional second in the coffin was agonizing. There needed to be release, the freedom to move freely and to its own accord. Remove the bindings, remove the soil.

     _Release me!_

 

     Nature had crept right up to the edges of the nuclear plant, but found itself beaten back by the ruthless survivors within. It looked like a fortress, with its barricaded walls, barbed wire reinforcements, guard towers, and more. They had to be more than some lucky survivors with a fucked up psyche. It seemed too crisp, too organized, to perfect to be the product of untrained hands. Whoever it was that they were about to fight, they knew what they were doing. They probably killed people before the world ended. Soldiers? Cops? It wasn't comforting to think that someone of either position would end up as a kidnapper.

     Again, they found themselves in a very exposed swath of land. Where they were now, an overturned truck provided ample cover, and closer to the fortress, the overgrowth would prove very useful. However, between the truck and the overgrowth was about a hundred feet of open ground. Peeking out of their cover, Stiles could see fresher bullet holes and streets in the ground, old blood staining the organic carpeting.

     "Please tell me someone has a plan." he whispered. "I do," Madison replied, "But we need some grenades." "I think we have one," Scott said as he began to rummage through their bags, "But it's not a very powerful one. People took the good ones long ago." "It doesn't have to be the best, as long as it'll work. I'll use my telekinesis to send the grenade into the guard tower, and then I'll pull the pin." "Can you do that?" Stiles asked. "Isn't that kind of a, delicate operation?" "It was the gift I was born with, so I think I can handle it. I unscrewed some bolts on a light fixture to kill this one guy." "Holt shit." said Lydia. "I know," Madison replied, "But he was being a complete douchebag. He got what was coming. Now, Scott, do we have a grenade?"

     They did, and, there was only one, as he had assumed. It was small, but it didn't have to be big, so long as it got the job done. Madison took the explosive in her hand and peaked over the truck. She spotted the guard tower, in the corner of the fortress to her right. She gently placed the grenade on the truck, and, with a steady gaze, lifted it into the air.

     The others watched eagerly, like children gathering around a Saturday cartoon marathon. It was fascinating, to see the object float so smoothly through the air. She maintained her gaze, her neck flexing as it ventured further out. Stiles was fascinated, that a person could influence such a force and then execute such a precise maneuver from such a great distance. His mind raced at the possibilities she could present on scouting missions. Surely she was aware of how useful she could be for making distractions, silently executing enemies, and causing havoc in general.

     As he wondered, she broke her gaze, and sharply exhaled. "Don't worry," she quickly defended herself, "I did it, I pulled the pin." And with that, the explosion revealed itself to the dead of night. In this dark landscape, even this smaller grenade was able to create a wonderful display. Chunks of debris flew out from the tower, and it collapsed in a loud death throe.

 

     Now a terribly loud and piercing alarm sounded, obliterating the serenity of the night. Before they could return fire they all ducked down beneath the vehicle. The grenade had not actually revealed their location. It was the stealthiest way you could blow something up, short of something remote operated from a continent away. Peeking out from the side of the truck, Stiles could see men, well-armed men, coming out into the open land.

     Above them, on the walls of the perimeter, more armed men appeared. Some carried rifles, others machine guns, and other still hauled turrets over their shoulders. _Turrets_. Stiles felt his blood freeze when he saw the giant barrels being set up atop their metal tripods. It was far worse than they could've imagined. It was like they left a flaming bag of shit at the door of a goddamn army. Who knew how many of them were inside the building itself? They were dozens of them within their immediately visible area, and then there was all the military hardware they were packing.

 

     But none of that happened.

 

     After the tower fell, the night became silent once more. There was no alarm, that dramatic flair that served as the first stage of a dramatic encounter. There were no men with guns or men carrying guns, no overwhelming numbers to instill a sense of dread and hopelessness. Smoke and dusts were stirred, and lazily drifted into the air, but that was all that was new that came from the fortress. Nothing stirred, not even the creatures in the night. It was the stillest, softest night any of them had ever witnessed.

     "Alright," Madison finally said, "Why the fuck hasn't anything happened? I just blew up a tower, that's not exactly the kind of thing that goes unnoticed." "Just give it a minute," said Scott, "Do you have any idea how late it is? They might've hunkered down for the evening." "Let's not play the guessing game," said Lydia, "We already know that that's not what's going on here. I think they're waiting for us to make another move." "They have the upper advantage," said Stiles, "So, what would they want to do to us?" "I've been thinking," Lydia continued, "About how weird it is that there's this open space of land?"

     "The open space isn't the problem," said Madison, "It's the complete silence coming from the nuclear plant." "They might be one in the same," Lydia replied, "If I'm right. And, I admit I'm being a little paranoid, so, forgive me if I'm wrong. But for now, follow my lead." She backed away from the truck, crouching lower and lower to stay hidden, in the event that someone had been stirred, watching from the cover of the shadows. By the time they had backed up about forty feet, she stopped. There were a few rocks at their feet now, and she picked up one of the biggest ones.

     "Everyone pick up a rock, and throw it as far as you can in the direction of the truck. Aim beyond it, into the open space." "What exactly is this supposed to prove?" Scott asked. "What do you think will happen?" "I'm honestly hoping nothing will happen, but I'm not entirely convinced that nothing will happen." "I'm started to get confused," said Allison, "Could you please be a little more, specific?" "Just throw the rocks like I said, and then I'll go from there." The others complied, and as Lydia hurled her stone into the air, they repeated the action. The rocks disappeared into the night sky as they arched up and into the air, reappearing a few seconds before hitting the ground.

 

     Nothing happened. The stones landed with a silent thud, each a few feet from the last. Lydia felt ridiculous for letting herself jump to such an irrational conclusion, and she gladly explained herself to her friends.

 

     This was not the case. They did not see the rocks landing, but when they did, the ground erupted. A series of massive explosions, one after the other, tore apart the soil and low growing plants, sending these particles of matter high into the sky. The force of the explosions blew was like a backhanded slap to the face, and the truck was turned over and pushed all the way back to where they were crouching. Their ears rang from the blasts, but no worse than the opening act of any concert could do.

     "A minefield." said Stiles. "How did you guess that?" "I couldn't provide a rational reason if I tried. Thinking of the place as a fortress made me think of what people would use to defend a place like that. A minefield was one of the last things I thought of, but it was the one that stuck with me more than the others." "Well it's a good thing you thought to say something." said Madison. "We would've literally been blown sky high." "Let's throw some more rocks," Allison suggested, "Just to be safe." "Sounds good." Lydia replied.


	18. Despair

     The second wave of rocks did not trigger any additional explosives, and they moved up to where the truck had once lain. The clouds had settled, and there was a massive hole in the ground. Looking across, they could see that the minefield had actually opened up a large hole in the wall surrounding the nuclear plant.

     Proceeding through the hole, they found themselves trapped by two additional walks on either side. At the top of these walls was a row of machine guns, aimed downwards. Perhaps this was some very extreme tactic used to funnel enemies into a manageable space? It would have to be a one use tactic, as it didn't seem tactically viable to have a wall blown out every time someone or something happened to stumble across the minefield. Further suspicions were raised. They should've been stopped long before they reached that truck.

     Then there was the rope ladder hanging over their side of the right wall.

     They scaled it, and there was another ladder that took them inside the compound.

     Then there was the door left ajar.

     It was some kind of maintenance entrance. They passed by shelves of cleaning solutions, mops, gloves, yellow suits, etcetera etcetera. They rushed through the hole with their guns drawn, but more and more they felt like it was not necessary.

   The building had a different kind of effect on Stiles. He had long since grown used to the aura of abandoned buildings, but this one brought back old memories. It reminded him of when it was only weeks ago that the buildings they scavenged were still filled with people. It was a time when he felt very uncomfortable, because he felt like a thief more than a survivor. He felt like there were ghosts watching him, or someone was about to walk through the door and declare their outrage that he, a stranger, was rummaging through their home, their store, their car.

     He felt a knot in his gut. Something was very wrong. This place shouldn't have brought back those feelings. It's a fortress, a prison, an evil place where the innocent were taken against their will. It should've made him feel on edge, nervous, angry, furious. It did nothing of the sort to him. A terrible thought began to form. Clearly there _were_ people here, that cannot be denied. It is a fact that, today, there was someone here. But not anymore. "They're gone," he finally said aloud, "They knew we were coming."

 

     _Let's not jump to conclusions,_ Scott had said, _Maybe they're waiting for us somewhere else in the building._

     Against their better judgment they split up, though at no turn in a hallway, no dark room, no empty closet was there anything to make them regret it. The entire building was empty, and just about everything that wasn't bolted down was gone.

     "No one's home," Stiles announced over the radio, "They took everything and left." "That's for fucking sure," Madison added, "It's like they swept the place clean. Literally, I think they cleaned the place before they left." "Let's meet back up in the employee lounge," Scott suggested, "The one all these little maps have marked with a green triangle. We'll out what to do next while we eat."

     Not a single scrap of food was left behind. Like Madison said, they seemed to have been very thorough in their departure. They sat around a circular table, and Scott unpacked their rations. "I can't believe it." Madison began. "How long had they known we were coming for them?" "This doesn't make any sense," Lydia interrupted, "The note said they wanted us to come here." "Note?" asked Madison. "What note?" "Derek got one and so did we," Stiles replied, "Written in blood and basically challenging us to come here." "Do you still have it?" "No, I don't think we do. I don't even think we took it with us."

     "They didn't leave a trail." said Derek. "I don't know how we'll track them down." "It's really late already," Madison began, "And the trail will be cold by the time morning comes. I should be the last person who'd want to call it quits, but I honestly don't know how we'll be able to do this. If, if Nan was here, she could probably divine their location." She didn't glare at Derek, as she had been doing. Perhaps she was too defeated to get angry at him. "But we can't just give up on them." Allison begged. "We've gone through so much getting here." "And you've paid one of the worst prices." said Scott. "Nan paid heavier."

     "The good guys don't always win." said Stiles. "I wish this was like one of those comics or shows where we always manage to find some clue or dues ex machinas, but, we're up the fucking creek without a goddamn paddle." "It still doesn't feel right," Allison insisted, "That we would just give up on them." "We're not giving up," said Derek, "We're accepting that, at least for now, we can't do anything." All the while Scott had been preparing their dinner, a mix of canned Vienna sausages, some alphabet soup in tomato sauce, and crackers. Stale crackers. He mixed the sausages and soup together and cooked them over a Bunsen burner. It smelled amazing.

     "At least the food is decent this time," said Lydia, "And that's about the only positive thing about this day." "I actually hate these sausages," said Madison, "But I like the soup. It reminds me of a time when I was innocent." The group shared a chuckle. "I'm serious," she continued, "When I stopped having this for lunch I stopped being a good girl." "Let's hope it doesn't upset your stomach." Lydia chimed in. "It might be your kryptonite." "That's the thing that kills Spiderman, right?" Stiles and Scott burst into laughter, sending chunks of soup and sausage flying onto the table. "Jesus Christ," said Madison, "Did something punch them in the gut?" "It's Superman," Stiles said as he collected himself, "Kryptonite affects Superman."

     Despite their disappointments, this was the first meal they'd had in a long time where they could almost forget that they didn't have normal lives. They cracked jokes, laughed, shared stories, and smiled. Stiles wished it could last forever. He didn't want them to have to put their utensils down and get back to their mission. He wished Misty could be here, but he didn't want to _have_ to find her. He wished that she could've just stayed with him, stayed safe. He felt so happy. Why couldn't this be their everyday?

     Allison set her spoon down first. "I'm going to find a bathroom," she said, "I just realized I haven't gone all day and I think my bladder is going to explain." "Same here." said Lydia. "I'll help you get there." "Wait, I think I can get up on my own now." She seemed to be right, until a bolt of pain shot into her shoulder and brought her down, tipping over the table and rattling her chair. Everyone leapt up and came to her aid. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated, "That was totally random and spastic of me." "You don't need to apologize," said Lydia, "It's not that big of a deal."

     Stiles saw Derek's ears twitch. He heard something else during Allison's fall. He decided to himself search for other sounds. He heard the faintest bang, a fist slamming against metal, and an incredibly muffled call.

     "Quiet!" he shouted. "Listen." They held their breaths for several seconds, until the faint coupling of the bang and call were heard again. "What was that?" Allison asked. "Is someone still here?" "It doesn't sound like they're here through choice," said Madison, "It could be one of our people." She drew her gun and rushed out of the lounge. The others quickly followed, but by the time they had left the room Madison was already out of sight. "Madison," Stiles called, "Where are you?" "Down the hall and to the left," she replied, "I'm following the voice. It's a woman's!"

     How many of the prisoners were women? Misty, Queenie, Cordelia, and, what was her name? The one with Derek? He couldn't recall. Derek had been very quiet about them. Perhaps it was just him coping. People will be people. They started to catch up with Madison, and the duet became louder and clearer. It wasn't enough to discern identity, but it was enough to push them to run faster. If she had been left behind, why? Was she bait? Could she tell them where the others had gone? As they rounded a corner, the gap between the duets stretched on. And on. And on. And on. Silence befell them.

     "Hello?" Madison shouted.

     "Are you still alive?" Scott asked.

     "Please, we want to help you! It's us!" Stiles called.

     They decided to simply begin checking all of the doors around them. Room after room was empty, though many contained evidence of torture. There was blood, gore, rancid stenches that at times almost made them gag.

     And then Scott found it. He almost backed right out; the body was not immediately visible to him. But then it caught him, in his peripheral sight, and then? Then he screamed. He screamed, he screamed, he screamed. "Danny!" It was disorienting hearing this name. It had been so long since any of them had mentioned Danny. They had long since accepted that the world took him away. But now, why was Scott calling his name. From what they heard, he was hysterical, so it was no issue tracking him down.

     "Oh my god!" Lydia screamed. "Danny? Danny!" She fell to her knees and grabbed his arm. She shook it and continued to scream and cry. "Who did this? Why?" "I thought he died a long ago." said Allison. "Danny, you made it? Where were you, why couldn't we help you?" With the exception of Madison and Derek, everyone had collapsed around Danny. "You must've been on your own for a long time," Stiles begun, "So I, I've gotta give your props man. But god dammit, why couldn't we have found you? You would've been safe!" "I wish we didn't find him like this," said Lydia, "I wish we could've just, had the memories of him when he was alive. Instead we have this and that fucking gunshot in his chest!"

     "I'm sorry about this," Madison interrupted, "I, I really am. This is a fucked up situation and I know that none of you deserve to go through this. We've already had to suffer enough shit like this when the world fell apart. But there is someone alive in this place, and we owe it Danny to make sure at least one person was saved." "He wasn't the kind of person who deserved this." Lydia snapped. "No one is," Madison quickly replied, "Except, well, maybe a few people. But whoever it is that's calling for us, I'm sure they don't deserve this either. Don't let this place become someone else's grave. We can, have a funeral when we're done here."

     Derek and Madison took the body, and after collecting themselves enough to get up, the others continued the search.

     The building immediately took on a different personality. It felt like death itself breathed into the hallways. There an icy chill that touched the soul, and a sense of dread. How many others had suffered Danny's fate? Stiles' thoughts were a mess. He didn't even realize that he was following the calls deeper and deeper into the building. His body was running on autopilot, his mind trying and failing to juggle the discovery that their friend did not die, but also that he was killed.

     The bang came from the door on his right. Stiles waited for the call, but there was none. His mind raced. Stiles slowly pushed the door open. He saw a body, dead, to his left. To his right, there was another pair of legs. He kept his gun ready for the extremely likely possibility that these other legs would attack. When the door was wide enough, he leapt through, the walker wouldn't have a chance at grabbing him, and when he was inside the room, he spun around.

     Her eyes were open, but death was trying with all his might to shut them forever. Her arm was bloody, and it was immediately clear that the other body had attacked her.

     "Who are you?" Stiles asked.

     "My name is Cordelia." she weakly muttered. "Where are the others?"

     "Guys," Stiles shouted, "I found her! She says her name is Cordelia!"

     There was an eruption of footsteps from all around him. Madison was the first to enter the room. "Oh my god," she shouted, "Cordelia, you're alive!" "I wouldn't get too excited Madison." She lifted her arm for the group, her wound clearly being a very deep bite. She then turned their attention towards the other body. "They stabbed him, and waited for him to turn. I couldn't free us both in time for me to help him." "That must've been what happened to Danny," said Lydia, "But, he had a bullet hole in his head. And he didn't look like he turned." "Misty might've been able to save him, but I know now that they shot him when they left."

     "So Misty might still be alive?" Stiles asked. "Maybe," Cordelia replied, "But I don't know where they went. All I know is that they left me here because I'm already dead." "Don't say that," Madison snapped, "There has to be something we can do for you. Nana and I didn't come this far for nothing." "There is. You can-" Cordelia's eyes leapt from person to person. When she had looked over everyone present, tears started to roll down her cheeks. "Where is Nan? Madison?" Madison started to cry. "She's dead Cordelia. She, she was killed." "No, no!" "Cordelia, I'm so sorry."

     "What are we going to do?" Lydia whispered to Stiles. "She's dead already." "We can't make that decision," he replied, "It's up to Madison and Cordelia."

     "I don't want to die here," Cordelia began, "But I know that I can't be saved. Please, could all of you take me back to the school? I want to die in my home, with Myrtle and the girls by my side. But, it'll just be you Madison." "Cordelia, don't give up! You've always taught us about being strong women, about how we have to beat the world together." "And I know you can. But I'm not strong enough to see the world change." Cordelia addressed Stiles. "You can take me back, can't you?" "If we can get to our vehicles. But, how much longer can you hold on?" "I don't know. But, please, can you try?"

     "Yes, but, I need to ask my friends about this too. Guys?" "She's dying," Allison replied, "And she just wants to go out a little more peacefully than most. We'll take you home Cordelia." "What kind of person would I be to say no?" Lydia asked. "Same here," Scott added, "I couldn't say no to this." "We should move out now," said Derek, "Unless we want to wait for the alligators to get curious and pay us a visit." "Alright," said Madison, "Everyone, help me get her up."

 

     There were still boats on the shore nearest to them. They travelled downriver to where they had hidden the vehicles. At no point during their travel did the alligators plague them, even with the body in tow. There was nothing stirring in the water, aside from the waves and roar of the airboats. In the night, the walkers were more oblivious to their existence, and the plows made short work of those who got in their way. Remarkably, Cordelia survived the entire trip. Though, to say she was alive was a very generous term. She already looked like a corpse, and everyone was prepared to put her down if it were to come to that. And yet, as they pulled up to the solid gates of the school, she was still amongst the living.

     They were greeted by a red haired old woman who nearly collapsed at the sight of Cordelia, and she did become terribly hysterical. She guided them upstairs to Cordelia's bedroom. The old woman, who identified herself as Myrtle, insisted that she and Madison clean Cordelia and dress her in a nightgown. They took her to the bathroom, washer her, combed her hair, applied subtle but beautiful makeup, and helped her into the nightgown. It was a macabre scene. Cordelia looked dead, but the elements of beauty disrupted the image.

     As a large group, they pulled the sheets back and laid Cordelia on bed. Stiles and his group left the room. Myrtle only wanted herself and Madison to be by Cordelia's side. The building was dark and unfamiliar, but it was the safest place they'd ever seen. They went outside to retrieve Danny's body. Spalding, the mute servant, gave them shovels and candles. For a half hour they dug frantically, creating a deep hole to lay his body to rest within. By candlelight they exchanged words and fond memories, saturated with tears and the palpable sense of grief. None of them were able to completely fill the hole back up. Their spirits were drained, as were their bodies Spalding guided them to the empty rooms in the school. No one wanted to go to sleep; they wanted to be awake in the event that Myrtle or Madison hesitated in doing what must be done. However, the events of the day proved to be too much to handle. Within minutes of settling in, everyone was asleep. Spalding turned off all the lights and snuffed out every last flame; there was no reason to draw attention to themselves. Midnight finally passed, and the day ended.


	19. Bed and Breakfast

     Stiles was awoken by a ray of sunlight stabbing him in his eye. It was early and cloudy, but his curtains had not been drawn the night before. Said clouds were parted just enough for the sun to rudely pull him from his slumber. He rolled out of bed. He didn't want to leave the room right away. Fortunately, there was a bathroom. The bathtub didn't seem functional, especially with it full of clutter, but all he needed was the mirror and sink. _Out of toothpaste_. Maybe not even that. It wasn't like dragon breath didn't regularly visit them, but for some reason, it bothered him more than it normally would have.

     He went back into the bedroom and drew the shades before sitting down on the bed. He didn't hear anyone else in the school. They were probably still sleeping. The sky obscured his guess, but Stiles felt comfortable saying it was some time before 6. The room felt like his own bubble, a sanctuary of sorts from the world that he would have to face the moment he stepped through the door. He didn't know Cordelia, but he knew that the girls at this school must've held her in high regards, must've had some kind of love toward her. He would never get to know her either. She must be dead by now. _When did it happen? How did it happen?_ Nothing had stirred his slumber throughout the night.

     He hoped they had gone through with it. His mind painted scenarios in his head of the house being infected, or the bedroom having three new walkers shuffling around. No, they were witches. Certainly someone like Madison wouldn't let herself succumb to the world that easily. He felt the need to leave the room. He felt confined, trapped, isolated, and ignorant. So much had happened yesterday, and he knew there was much more to come. They still didn't have Misty, and the girls were missing one of their sister witches. And they found Danny, dead, executed. He wished he hadn't seen him like that. He would've preferred his memories of Danny as a living person.

     The door quietly opened up to the hallway. The house was dark, but there were a few candles here and there which had been lit. Perhaps that servant, Spalding, was awake. He felt strange thinking of someone as a servant, but he didn't dwell on it. He wondered when the outcome of last night's event would reveal itself. The house was so quiet, but its grandeur quickly drew him in. The numerous candles, the chandeliers, the almost overwhelming white color scheme. Something as simple as a hallway was enough to entertain him. Perhaps it was because of how strongly it contrasted with the rest of the world, with its faded and decayed colors screaming death.

     With his descent down the grand staircase, he could hear multiple sets of footsteps somewhere beneath him. He wondered who else was awake. Down here, more candles had been lit, so he was sure that at least Spalding was awake. And, if he was awake and secure enough to light these candles, then surely Cordelia had been, taken care of. Unless she had attacked Madison and Myrtle, and their walker forms have yet to break out of the bedroom. _You're paranoid._ Then again, a healthy dose of paranoia had helped them out recently.

     He walked into their living room. It was massive. On the far end sat a piano. He couldn't imagine them playing such an instrument very often, the risk of its musical notes traveling beyond their walls and attracting the undead. Regardless, it was very clean, not a trace of dust being detectable from where he stood. Closer to him was a grand fireplace, a fire roaring within. It was then that he noticed all of the portraits on the walls, all of them being of women in very Victorian or very elegant clothing. The furniture was predominantly white, broken up by the wooden or black legs and frames supporting the cushioning. He heard more commotion nearby.

     Finding himself in their kitchen, Stiles saw Lydia and Spalding working to prepare breakfast. Lydia was the first to notice him. "Hey," she said with a groggy and exhausted voice, "You're awake. I thought I was the only one." "You don't exactly sound awake." he joked. "What're we having?" "Get this," she replied, "The have just enough electricity to keep a refrigerator running. We're having, mystery egg omelets and apples." Not believing her, Stiles rushed to the refrigerator and swung the door open. A cool gust of scented air rushed out at him. "Easy Stiles," said Lydia, "We've got to save their power." "It's just so amazing." he replied as the door shut. "Every other time we've found one of these, it looked like an amusement park for fungus."

     "I'm assuming you slept better than I did." she began. "I was actually up for hours. I never heard anything from the bedroom they took Cordelia into. And, I couldn't get that image of Danny out of my head. I'm not going to cry, I'm pretty sure I used up all my tears last night." Stiles looked at her eyes. There were bags underneath them, and they were bloodshot. In the kindest way he could think it, she looked terrible. Even in the wake of the apocalypse, she maintained something of a beauty regime. Today, that was not the case. She looked the worse for wear. But, he didn't blame her. He imagined that he looked pretty awful as well. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't found a razor to shave with in weeks, and he hadn't trimmed his hair in months. _Why am I thinking so much about what I look like?_

     "Stiles?" He zoned out. "You alright?" "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized that I haven't shaved in a while." "You know, I don't know why I haven't really thought about it, but you haven't. And your hair's getting longer too." "How is it that we can think about this now?" "I say it's this school. It feels alive and safe, so maybe our collective subconscious is finally allowing us to worry about what we look like. Myself excluded of course. I always found the time." "And for that, I applaud you." Spalding tapped Lydia's shoulder. He handed her a bowl of their "mystery eggs" and a frying pan. "Sorry," she said, "I'll take care of that. Stiles, could you get Scott and Allison?" "Sure thing."

 

     Scott and Allison took the room at the beginning of the hall on the other side of the staircase, first door on the right. Stiles pressed his ear against the door. If they were, intimate, he would prefer only hearing it for a second and leaving over walking in on them. Once was enough, the second time was two too many, and the third, fourth, and fifth times were ridiculous.

     Luckily, he didn't hear their passionate soundtrack when he pressed his ear against the door. He heard footsteps and light conversation. He opened the door to see Scott cleaning Allison's wound. It didn't look infected, or at least, not yet, but it would be nice if they didn't have to fight back another very serious injury. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, so they quickly became aware of him.

     "So, how did you two sleep?" Stiles asked. "All things considering," Allison replied, "Pretty well. Some of the pain in my shoulder and arm woke up, but only for a few minutes." "She's strong." Scott said as he beamed a smile. "It sucked that we couldn't sleep together, but, I think she had a valid excuse." "Well, Lydia and Spalding are making breakfast downstairs." Stiles began. "There's a fireplace downstairs if you're feeling cold, and, this whole place looks fucking amazing. But, Madison and the others aren't up yet."

     "I'm sure they just need some time," said Allison, "It never really gets easy to do what has to be done." "I'll help her downstairs," said Scott, "Why don't you go wake up Derek?"

     Derek was in the room down the hall to the left. He put his ear to the door, but there were no sounds coming from within. He careful pushed the door open, only the slightest squeaks coming from the hinges. On the bed, Derek was laying on his stomach, shirtless. _Shirtless. Holy shit. And, wow, a tattoo?_ It was a, what was the word, triskelion? That sounded right, though it didn't sound at all like the word anyone should know, especially when admiring how his muscles bulged beneath it. He had to stop, he was getting worked up.

     "Hey!" Stiles shouted. "Breakfast call." Derek stirred, and rolled onto his back. "What time is it?" he asked. "Early," Stiles replied, "But Lydia and Spalding have been up longer." "Spalding's the servant?" "Yeah." "And Madison?" "Nothing yet. Like Allison said, they probably just need some time. If they went through with it, they'd definitely be a little upset right now." "You think they didn't?" Derek crossed his legs and sat up. _Holy shit, look at him! Don't let him catch you staring._ "It's just been really quiet." Stiles replied. "But, I don't think we should worry yet. Now, get dressed, and come downstairs." _Or, you know, you can just come as you are._ Walking out, he wished for a second that this was all a terrible "plot" for a porno with a ridiculous budget. Derek would've said something horrendously cheesy and laughable, Stiles would've replied with something equally as corny, they'd say something about being horny during the apocalypse, and then they'd fuck on top of their clothes. _I am way too horny right now. I need food._

 

     "And they're 'mystery' eggs?" Allison was hesitant to eat the omelet. Without a doubt it was the best looking and smelling food they had seen in over a year, but the word "mystery" should never be partnered with the word "food." "We're all eating it." Lydia took a large bite out of her omelet. "And, it tastes just like how I remember eggs taste." "And these apples?" Scott exclaimed as he grabbed a fruit from the center of the table. "I can't believe how much I've missed these things."

     "Well if everyone's eating it," said Allison, "Why not?" "Ordinarily I wouldn't approve of that reasoning," said Lydia, "But, this food is the shit, especially since it doesn't taste even a little bit like shit." "What I'm really impressed with is how well they've maintained this place. I mean, everything is white, and there are hardly any stains. Then there's all the candles, the portraits, the fireplaces, the freaking piano in the living room." "By no means did we come here under good circumstances," said Stiles, "But, goddamn is this place awesome."

     "I hope they let us stay here." said Allison. "I mean, it wouldn't have to be forever. Just, just for a little while." "It's the nicest house I've ever seen." said Scott. "And it isn't even a house." "Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies." Lydia quoted. "A boarding school. It is like a mansion though. And it has electricity." "And a steady supply of fresh food." said Allison. "Though, we are an extra five mouths to feed. Six if Misty gets rescued." "But two less." said Scott. "Nan and Cordelia." "But one of theirs was taken," said Lydia, "And then there are the two people you were traveling with Derek."

     "So it levels out to seven extra mouths." said Derek. "I don't know if they'd be able to keep up with that." "But it's not like we'd be helpless," said Allison, "Or, I won't be at some point." "I think we could work out a deal for us to stay here." said Scott. "And like you said, it wouldn't be forever." "Alright enough." Stiles snapped. "Let's stop this conversation, right now. They're losing someone. They already lost her. Let's, just, let her body get cold before we start trying to bargain for a bedroom." "Speaking of which," said Lydia, "Has anyone heard anything from the bedroom?" "I didn't bother trying to check in on them." Allison replied. "I wanted to give them their privacy."

     "But you didn't hear anything," Lydia continued, "Did you?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, it's been very quiet. Stiles, I think you're right. We're all sitting around, having breakfast in their home, but we have no idea what has been going on in that bedroom, and none of them have left." "I would tell you to not be so paranoid," said Stiles, "But honestly, paranoia seems to be a good thing these days." "So, what should we do?" Allison asked. "Finish our breakfast, wash the dishes, and then go up there with our guns and machetes, just in case they've all turned?"

 

     "In all fairness," said Derek, as the group started up the staircase, "It was your idea." "I'm pretty sure I was not being serious." Allison replied. "I was definitely not suggesting we do this." "I'm not a fan of it either Allison," said Stiles, "We're being the worst house guests ever. But, I want this to be over with so we can move on." "Would they still have their powers if they're infected?" Scott asked. "I mean, could they still lift things with their minds?"

     They rounded the corner of the hallway. The room they took Cordelia into was at the far end of the hall, on the right. "I don't think so." Stiles replied. "I mean, the mind gets reduced to basically nothing more than the thing that tells them to move and eat. Magic probably requires a little more thought than what's left." "I guess so. It does seem a little too wild to be possible." "In a world of witches and walking corpses," Stiles continued, "Let's not be too quick to say that something is too 'wild' to be possible."

     The conversations died when they reached the bedroom. It was still silent. It didn't seem possible for it to be so quiet. "Keep your fingers off the trigger." Stiles ordered. "We don't want to have any accidents."

     They opened the door, and if it were a physical possibility, their jaws would have dropped to the floor with such a thud that every walker in New Orleans would be drawn to them. In a beautiful floral dress, Cordelia stood in the middle of the room. Her skin was full of color, and her face looked rejuvenated and young. There was a glow, an aura to her, which Stiles couldn't describe. There was something, regal, about her. Behind Cordelia Madison and Myrtle sat on the bed, smiles stretching across their faces. The bite on her arm was gone, not a trace of it. Stiles did notice a pile of bed sheets covered in a black sludge, the same that he had seen come out of Derek when he was bitten.

     "What the hell is going on?" asked Allison. "You, you were bitten. You were barely holding on when we took you here." "They're also witches," said Lydia, "Who've already shown us that this world still has quite a few surprises left for us." "As much as I'd love to take credit for saving her life," said Madison, "I, can't. She was beyond anything we could've done." "Either we lacked the necessary supplies," Myrtle added, "Or the remedies simply wouldn't have been executed quickly enough." "So how did she survive?" Lydia asked. "I think she can answer that herself." Myrtle replied.

     She nodded at Cordelia. "I," she began, "Am the Supreme."


	20. Breakfast Supreme

_"Cordelia? Cordelia, please, take a deep breath."_

_But I couldn't hear anything Madison was saying. All I could sense was the horrendous pain I was feeling. Every inch of my body was consumed in this indescribable agony. If I were ever to end up in hell, there's no way it could compare. I knew I was screaming because it was the only thing I felt I could do. It was the most useless I'd ever felt. One of them cast a spell. I can't remember its name, but it creates a small sound barrier._

_"It was me Cordelia." said Myrtle_

_Thank you. It would've been hard on our guests if they had to listen to my screams. The spell isn't perfect though. The only drawback is that all those screams were bouncing around inside our barrier. I swear, I thought I was going to make myself go deaf. But, of course, that would have been the least of my worries, wouldn't it?_

_"Her outbursts didn't last long," said_ _Madison as she took control of the story. After, I don't know, maybe a half hour, she just stopped. We called her name a few times, but we didn't get a response. I slapped her. Sorry about that by the way. For a second Myrtle and I thought she was going to go limp, and, well, die. But her eyes stayed wide open. She was alive, and she started hyperventilating. It was horrifying. But again, it didn't last long. She started taking really heavy and slow breaths. And shit, you should've seen what was happening to her skin. It went completely white, like a fucking porcelain doll, and you could see every vein in her body. Every one of them was black._

_Now it was Myrtle's turn to narrate._

_And that was when it became clear that what we were witnessing was not a dramatic and horrendous death. It was a rebirth._

_"Well it was clear to her," Madison interrupted, "But I didn't have any idea what was happening. It was like a living nightmare."_

_You're not wrong my dear, but the nightmare was not at all one to fear. The black in her veins surged to the wounds on her arm, where it squirted and sloshed out._

_"No more of those words Myrtle, I'm going to be sick."_

_At the same time, Cordelia became violently ill. She began vomiting up the same black sludge in an inhuman quantity. The stench was absolutely horrendous. That I cannot deny and I do apologize if it embarrasses you dear, but after only a minute of this exorcism my beloved Cordelia had regained her pigment in full, and then some. There was a healthy, tangible glow to her, and the very air vibrated around her. I could sense that she felt the energy surging within. I had her change immediately, and by the time the sun had risen into the sky, she had performed the Seven Wonders._

     "Oh what a glorious day!" Myrtle exclaimed with a burst of energy. Stiles decided against acknowledging the apple skin that hit his cheek. "Amidst the darkness of this new world a Supreme manages to arise. Even better is the indication that your mother has finally croaked." "I'm thrilled that you're alive," said Stiles, casually scratching his face to remove the apple skin, "But, I'm still more than a little confused." "You're not alone," Scott added, "I still can't believe that this kind of magic is real."

     "I don't think anyone's been welcomed into our world so suddenly," said Myrtle, "But this world has a habit of pushing us out of our comfort zones." "Ask us any and all questions you have." said Cordelia. "We'll gladly answer them." "So," Stiles began, "A Supreme is like, the most powerful thing that a witch can be, if I'm picking up on the right signal. And, someone had to die before you could become one. So, only one can exist at a time. Stop me if I start sounding like an idiot." "That's actually a good nutshell of it." Cordelia replied. "But, to elaborate, the Supreme is a witch born once every generation who embodies the strengths of the entire coven. She is recognized worldwide by all the descendants of Salem, her authority and status are absolute. It is determined whether a witch is or is not a Supreme based on her ability to complete the trial of the Seven Wonders."

     "And those are," began Lydia, "What? Are they specific magical acts, or abilities?" "Yes," Cordelia replied, "They are a specific set of magical abilities. They're not the only talents a witch may possess, but they are the only seven that can determine a Supreme." "Could anyone take that trial?" Lydia asked. "Could any witch be the Supreme?" "You're not wrong in that the Supreme could manifest herself as a very unexpected individual, but no, not everyone can take the trials. Some of the tests can lead to very, terrible deaths." "The worst of which being the failure of Descensum," Myrtle interrupted, "During which your soul could be trapped in the netherworld and you will die."

     "So what're the other wonders?" Allison asked. "Telekinesis, pyrokinesis, transmutation, concilium, divination, and Vitalum Vitalis." Cordelia replied. "The first two are self-explanatory. The others, in order, are the ability to essentially teleport, to control minds, to divine the location and knowledge of an object or person without physically handling and finding it, and to balance the scales of life between two beings." Cordelia could detect the confusion on their faces. "Bringing something or someone back from the dead," she clarified, "Though this drains the user."

     "And the three of you went through all of this," Scott began, "While we slept?" "It continued into the earliest hours of the morning," Myrtle replied, "But yes. A shame you had to miss such a tremendous occasion, but you were all exhausted. Thank you for helping prepare breakfast though, this is simply wonderful."

     "Wait," Allison interrupted, "If you can bring the dead back to life, could you save our friend?" The three witches exchanged glances, none of which hinting at a hopeful reply. "He wouldn't have rotted too much," she continued, "And, we had to, make sure he was down, but, you could work around that, right?" "The thing about this disease," said Cordelia, "Is that, after death, it's too late for them to be saved. I'm not a virologist; I'm a botanist if anything. This disease infiltrates the brain and, I don't know how I could explain it, but it damages it, and the person that they were is gone. Bringing the body back would be, catastrophic."

     "You're sure about that?" Allison insisted. "Have you tried it before?" "Once." Madison replied. "We decided that this little old lady wouldn't be a threat if we let her in. Shit, it was amazing she was alive. She had a heart condition, and she didn't tell us until it was too late. As an exercise in magic, Cordelia had me try my hands with Vitalum Vitalis." Madison's focus drifted away from the table. "She was successful," Cordelia continued, "But when the old woman opened her eyes, there was something wrong with them. She screamed, flailed, and lunged at us.

     "But she wasn't like the other infected. She moved fast, too fast for her body. Bones started cracking, but she continued screaming and lunging. After her limbs were ruined, we decided to, study her." "Though none of us are trained medical professionals," Myrtle continued, "We were able to reach the conclusions Cordelia listed." Cordelia could see that Allison was frustrated. She didn't blame her. In media, magic was always presented as the ultimate force to remedy any situation. There was always a spell, or a wave of the wand, or an incantation that conveniently applied to anything and everything. The real magical world had limits, and even her power couldn't solve every situation. It would, however, be enough for them to survive this city.

     "Like I said," Cordelia began, "I can't offer any kind of professional explanation, but we've learned enough to know what can and can't be done. But let me tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I feel like it might seem a little unfair that I got a second chance, yet I'm unable to provide your friend with one." Allison and Lydia choked down their tears. Cordelia hadn't noticed how worked up Lydia had become. She herself actually felt guilty now. No, no there was no reason for her to feel guilty. She never had any reason to believe she could be the Supreme. Fiona made certain of that. Could, could she have known? "I can't be jealous of your life." Allison's shaky voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "What kind of a person would I be if I was?"

     "A normal person." said Madison. "You just met Cordelia. She's essentially a stranger, who was in the same prison your friend was in. And she gets to walk away, fully reinvigorated. Essentially unharmed too. Better than she ever was before actually." "Madison," Cordelia interrupted, "Please." "It's fine," Allison insisted, "She's right. But, I do know that someone else's miracle is something to find some happiness in. That's all you can ask for in this world, right? It wasn't your fault, I can't be mad at you. Jealousy doesn't make sense, but when does it ever?"

     "This breakfast is getting a little too deep for me." Stiles interrupted. "I'm not saying we shouldn't devote a very tender and somber time to Danny, but, before the eggs get cold I'd like to get to know the Supreme witch whose house we're sleeping in and whose eggs we're eating." Cordelia chuckled. "I like you Stiles." she said. "But, you've helped me and my girls out in their time of need. In our time of need. You're more than welcome to stay here as long as you'd like." Stiles watched Allison. A smile stretched across her face, and through her tears and her red eyes, she released a soft, cute giggle.

     "I am so happy to hear you say that!" Allison exclaimed. "I never imagined that a place like this could still exist, especially here." "Well, you're good company," Madison added, "So I'm definitely going to be getting something out of this. And Lydia, I need a reliable girl like you, someone who can still care for the finer things in life. Even if most of them are covered in plants or mold."

     "Before we get too settled in," Cordelia interrupted, "We need to plan our next move. Misty and Queenie are still their prisoners, and so are your people Derek. We have to find the men who took me, the men who still have them, and kill them." "Now this is good table conversation." said Stiles. "Pass the salt, pass the lead, and watch the blood." "I feel like we actually have a pretty good chance this time." said Scott. "I mean, guns are guns, and they've got more of them, but magic is a whole new level of badassery." "Since these people specialize in hunting my kind," said Cordelia, "They won't be totally unprepared for us. I imagine they have silver bullets, maybe even blessed ones. But yes, you're right. All of our efforts and our magic could possibly be enough to overwhelm them. At the very least, we would take all of them down with us."

     "I don't know if it's a stupid question," Scott continued, "But, divination? Could you find them with that power?" "It's how Nan found her." Madison replied. "It's not the traditional, 'Find the old woman's favorite diamond-encrusted pin,' but, yeah, why the fuck not?" "I'm sure I could find them." Cordelia added. "My ability to sense and seek out people or objects is, heightened." "And when we do find them," said Stiles, "They probably won't be able to make a clean, quick getaway. They took a lot of their shit with them."

     "Then they're without a doubt trying to find a new stronghold." said Cordelia. "This actually narrows down the number of places they might be. If I'm right in that assumption. They could simply want to leave New Orleans altogether. If it wasn't for the school, we would've left long ago and relocated all the way to the Midwest, to Raccoon City." "That would've been a long journey." said Stiles. "Where would you have gone?" "We had several contacts with the Umbrella Corporation. There was a mansion outside the city we would've moved into." "Too bad it's all a crater then." Stiles continued. "A mansion would've been a great place to wait out the apocalypse."

     "Good thing we've got the school then." Lydia interrupted. "Now, I think we should turn off the real estate chatter, and seriously consider how we're going to save our friends. Divination, if it's successful, should lead us right to them. But, since they'll be on the move, we'll have to be ready to move out the moment we find them." "I completely agree." said Cordelia. "We have to leave this school with every detail of the attack thought out. I don't want us coming back a single person lighter." "And if that truly is your heart's desire," said Myrtle, "Then obviously we cannot all go. Obviously Spalding and I are in no condition to fight, but you too Allison. That is a very serious injury you've sustained." "I can fight through it." Allison quickly snapped. "I, sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude. But, everyone has had to work through the pain at one point or another. This is no different." "Not to sound rude," said Madison, "But weren't you complaining about what a burden it was yesterday?" "It was a moment of weakness. And, I'm not weak." "Allison," Scott began, "I won't-"

     "These people are unlike any adversary you've ever faced." Cordelia interrupted. "These are not strung-out raiders, traumatized and trigger-happy survivors, or shuffling corpses. They're hunters. In the wild, hunters always go for the sick, old, or injured. They would be able to sense your weakness." "Then I won't be at the front of the attack. Look, I'm not sitting this one out. I got this bite trying to save Misty, your girls, and your people Derek. I'm not stopping now." Cordelia opened her mouth, but she stopped herself from speaking. Instead she merely, looked, at Allison. She wasn't the kind of person who wanted to live in this new world, but she was the kind of person who would fight it at every turn. Or at least, that's what she thought of her.

     "Allison," she began, "Like I said, these people are unlike anything you could've encountered in New Orleans." Allison started to say something. "But," Cordelia snapped, "I can see that, short of using my powers on you, I can't make you stay." "Allison," Scott began again, "I'm not going to let you get hurt even more. Or, worse." "Scott, you know that I love you, and I'll never turn down your protection. But I want to do this. I want to fight for them, to fight for this school. We need a place where we can finally rest and feel safe. And I don't want anyone else to miss out on that opportunity."

     "I'm sensing quite a noble surge in this young lady." said Myrtle. "I would follow your course of action, were I not in such an advanced stage of age." "But we need someone to protect the school." said Scott. "What if some of them come here?" "There's no reason to believe that this school is still standing," said Cordelia, "But, better safe than sorry. Allison, we need someone to look after the school. If not you, then one of the others will have to stay. I don't doubt Myrtle or Spalding's loyalty, but if there were some youth to help them, they'd stand a better chance."

     "And I can't deny that it would be best if someone stayed behind. So, I guess, I'll stay here." Scott and Cordelia both sighed in relief. "Thank you." they said in unison. "It means a lot to me," Cordelia continued, "That you'll be here protecting the school, protecting our school. As a Supreme, it is my responsibility to lead. But, you're all very capable individuals. I'll treat all of you as my equal, but, if I give a command, you have to trust that it is for the best. If things start to happen that you don't understand, just go with it. Unless I say something, it'll be either Madison or I using our magic."

     "Well the eggs are officially cold." Stiles interrupted. "So, let's wrap up this breakfast and get to planning. That living room looks like a pretty nice place to do it."


	21. Surprise Bitch

     Cordelia started a fire; _with her mind_. Stiles loved being able to think that. It wasn't particularly cold or dark, but the fire was slowly bringing the room to a very comfortable and toasty temperature, different from the wet heat that New Orleans would ever so graciously provide them with. Stomachs full, Stiles wondered if any of them would start to feel drowsy. Hopefully their conversations would maintain a certain level of intensity and interest to keep them all focused. Considering he had wondered off on this whole train of thought, he was hoping they'd begin soon.

     "Now that we all have full stomachs, let's get some ideas flowing." Their Supreme spoke first. Could he call her _their_ Supreme as well? They weren't witches, but they were living with the coven now, weren't they? "The key things to remember about these men are: they're descendants of hunters who have existed before the time of Salem, they have always had access to deadly and terrifying weapons, and they're capable of incapacitating people who could physically and mentally be far superior to them."

     "Additionally," Myrtle chimed in, "They'll know that we'll want to save our loved ones, and that they will use that against us if given the time. The sooner this conflict resolves itself, the less of a chance we have of losing them. Or, any of us." "Well," said Scott, "Allison, Myrtle, and Spalding will hold down the fort, so they're safe. That means we'll be going in with, what, six people?" "Yep." Madison replied. "You, me, Stiles, Lydia, Cordelia, and Derek. Not a lot of manpower, but, it'll be easier to be, sneaky. Easy in, easy out."

     "Which is much easier said than done." said Stiles. "If it were ever that easy, we wouldn't have lost so many people." "But now we have magic on our side." said Lydia. "Granted, these people have a, certain skill for hunting magical beings. But, you're a Supreme. They certainly know that something like you can exist, and that you can be very powerful, but reading about something and actually facing it are two different things."

     "But she doesn't exactly have the eye of the tiger." Madison interrupted. "No offense." "As hard as it is for me to admit it," Cordelia replied, "Madison isn't wrong. I've tried to become strong, I know I've become stronger, but I'm not a fighter. For the majority of my life I've been able to consider myself safe behind these walls. But now?" "It gets easy pretty quickly." said Derek. "When it's fight or die, you learn to fight." "And I may have come off as critical," said Madison, "Which I was, but I also know that you're not the kind of person to chicken out when it matters most. Whatever they throw at us, you'll be able to handle it."

     "We'll also have to consider," said Derek, "That their evacuation is attracting the undead. That could complicate things, especially if they're constantly being followed." "As long as they don't surround us," said Stiles, "We can handle that. All the blood and gunfire will be like a dinner bell. If we move fast, we don't get surrounded we don't get eaten, we all go home, and we can actually think about how we can get over all of this."

     "Derek and I will take the rear." Cordelia announced. "I believe that the two of us are a good combination of physical and mental strength." "Can't argue with that." said Derek. "Stiles, Scott," she continued, "You'll be our left and right flanks. I want you to have something that's effective at a close, medium, and long range." "I'm pretty sure we've got something for each of those categories." said Scott. "I'm not saying we've got some top of the line sniper rifle, but it'll have more accuracy than a machine gun."

     "Finally, Madison, you and Lydia will be at the front of the attack. I don't know what kind of formation they'll be in, but you two will have to distract them, and _then_ we'll make our first move." "I've already shown them I'm capable of that much," said Madison, "But I guess I could have a little more fun."

 

     “If that's all settled then Cordelia, divine for us the location of our beloved Queenie. Can you recall what she was wearing when she and you were taken?”

     “Yes, but I'll have to be in her room. I have to touch something she owned.”

     “How exactly does this work?”

     “With our collective silence.”

     “Sorry.”

     “I've got it. They're on the move right now. The, the 61.”

     “What could they be going towards? What's in that direction?”

     “The bridge? The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway?”

     “Cordelia?”

     “They took an off ramp. I think you're right Scott.”

     “Then let's get packed, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. The plows will definitely need to be cleaned after this.”

_What the hell am I going to do? I can’t hide this; I know it’s true now. Why did this have to happen to me? I wish I was fucking dead. Maybe, maybe it would be better then. I wish they let those things drag me beneath the water. It would’ve been easier than putting them all through, through this! God, I can’t even think it to myself._

_What exactly am I thinking? Am I really this pathetic? That, that I would rather throw it all away than at least giving it a fighting chance? But, is it really my right to put that burden on everyone, on Scott? He worries about me enough; I don’t want him to get worse. He watches me so much that, that sometimes he doesn’t see the danger coming. Shit, imagine how bad he’ll be afterwards._

_No, no, no! Get it together Allison, stop thinking like this. I need to tell him. I have to hear it be said, it needs to exist somewhere outside of my mind. And, and that trash can._

_Not yet though. I’m going to put this off as long as possible._

_But I have to do it before they leave._

 

    "You know what game I haven't played in the longest time?" Marie was bored, sitting in the back of an army truck. It roared along with a thundering motor, a foolish move on their part. She stopped checking whether the herds were following or not, because there was no point in doubting that. They were moving slowly, and could seldom travel in a straight path longer than a few dozen feet. So back to the point, she was bored, and her only companions were the witches. She could kill them. It would spice things up, there's no questioning that, but it wasn't the right time.

     So, with the barely conscious and soon to be descended witches, Marie decided to simulate a conversation. "The Sims!" The younger blonde, drugged and dazed, rolled over. A partial gaze rested on Marie. "Don't you look at me that way. What? A grown woman doesn't have the right to waste her time on a little life game?" She wasn't expecting a response from the witch. It was a conversation she would have with herself, from start to finish. But put like that, she felt a little _too_ crazy. So, they would be her excuse.

     "Life's been my game for decades." she began. She was still talking to the young blonde. _What's her name again? Misty, it's Misty_. "It's not something you could ever know, Misty. I've got all of them, essentially. But, I can't control them all directly. Magic like that is too much for one person. Our methods may differ, but both our magics have to up the ante when the living are to be controlled. But my wolf? That, that's a different story. He has done very well, and will continue to do so. Must be a pack instinct. Shit, maybe I will keep him. Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Marie, why can't you decide on who you're going to kill? You said you'd spare them, and then you said you'd kill them.' I don't like swaying back and forth on decisions like that, but it's been so crazy these last two days. Everything's scrambling to a boil, and minute by minute, things change."

 

     The entire school was buzzing with activity. Everyone was frantically checking their weapons, making sure that there wasn't so much as a clump of moss on the barrel. Allison, Myrtle, and Spalding were barricading the windows and doors. Admittedly, they weren't the most physically adept individuals, but until the priority tasks were complete, they were all that could be spared. Amidst it all though, Stiles couldn't keep his mind _completely_ on task. He still couldn't figure it all out, but he knew that he needed to talk to Derek. He didn't know if he could really call this situation the most life threatening one they've ever been thrown into, but it was very likely that they wouldn't all make it back.

     Derek went upstairs.

     Everyone else was downstairs. But, where was Allison? No matter.

     Now was the time.

     He caught him in one of the bedrooms they had kept some their supplies in. He was sitting on the bed, with junk all around him. There wasn’t much, just a few handguns, ammunition bags, and other random shit they felt too attached to to leave behind. Derek was emptying the bags of said shit, his look cycling between a humored disbelief and a condescending “really?” that needed no words to be understood. It really wasn’t the time, but, when was it ever? The convenience in choice degraded on a day to day basis in this world. "Hey,” he began, “Think we can talk now?" Derek stopped his work, and actually got off the bed to approach Stiles. "You know,” he continued, “Take advantage of this calm before the storm?" He smirked. "Well I don't think I can count on something to burst through the walls to distract us, and I know that whatever I say won't shut you up. So, shoot."

     "Wow, I really didn't think you'd let me.” _Well make a fucking move then. Don’t fuck this up. Fuck._ “We've only had a few brief, random moments together,” Stiles continued, “And everything's been moving really spastically. So, those moments have kind of just sat there. Honestly I don't know if I really like you because, well, you're an ass most of the time, and we’ve known each other for a day. But you're hot, that’s definitely a fact. So, I want to think that I could be into you. And, I could try to make a dirty joke to ease my mind, but, I’ve already become too convoluted."

     Something blunt.

     "So you can’t decide if you like me, or if you’re just really horny. That about sum it up?” _Wow._ "That is a possibility.” Stiles replied “And, yeah, I guess that’s the gist of what I wanted to say." "Not into Lydia?" Derek asked. “If it’s just some steam, why not her?” “Well this is an awkward thing for me revisit. I tried, for a relationship and for something casual, for a long time before the apocalypse and then for a little while after. But, she just wanted a friend. And I realized that I was actually fine with that. It wasn't what I had wanted, but it was nice. We butt heads like crazy but, it's fine. I love her, but, I won’t be in love with her. And, a casual hookup can’t really be casual with the way we are."

     A little, emission of free will.

     "Look, Stiles. I feel the same way."

     _What? WHAT? WHAT? Jesus Christ calm down Stiles, it was one sentence. Well, two. But, what?_ "What?" he finally asked. "Name one thing that's harder in the apocalypse than getting laid and finding a partner." said Derek. "Nothing short of reversing the apocalypse." Stiles replied.

     Blunt throw.

     "I'd take any chance to get some action.” said Derek. “Better to die like that than with pent up frustration. To be honest, that shaggy hair is pretty hot on you." Stiles could feel himself blush. It was actually starting to feel hotter in the room. He wasn’t sure if he could say he was ready for some spontaneous bout of sex, but, if Derek made a move, he wouldn’t refuse.

     And real it back to some genuine emotion. Make the fool swoon.

     "But,” Derek continued, “I also wouldn't mind something more than that."

     His mind was racing. _How is this actually happening? How the fuck is this happening? It’s been a goddamn day_. “I can’t say for sure that we could start anything that would last. But, why the hell can’t we try?” “At this point I have nothing to lose.” Stiles replied. “I say, yeah, we could try. I'm kind of scared to actually get to know you though. Would I be ruining my chances if I said I think you’re bipolar?" Stiles expected a frown. He knew it could potentially mess something up, or at least he conjured up such a scenario. Instead, Derek smirked. "Not at all.” he quickly replied, before punching Stiles’ shoulder. “Jerk." "Hey!” he shouted. “You can't blame me, can you? Since you didn’t look like you wanted to kill me just then, I’m going to keep talking. Your personality is like a switch. You know, you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then-" "Don't start singing Katy Perry." Derek interrupted. “Let her rest in peace.” "Baby you're a firework,” Stiles teased, “Let your colors burst." "You know she’s probably rolling over in her grave?”

     Derek started to return to the bed. Stiles knew he wanted to do one last thing, while the mood seemed right. He grabbed Derek’s arm. _Wow. He, is buff_. "People die unexpectedly all the time.” he began. “No matter how prepared they can be the world has a habit of pushing its own agenda." Derek met his gaze, and Stiles felt his stomach heave.

     It ain't the world honey. You'll see soon enough.

     "So, if all of this gets settled, and I'm not there afterwards, I want to have done something stupid too." "And what would that be?" Derek asked. "This." Stiles pulled Derek in close, and kissed him. Immediately he felt like he didn’t know what he was doing, but it felt, good? _Is that how I’m describing this? Oh, what a good and dandy kiss._

     A few seconds later, Stiles stepped back. He searched Derek’s face for any hints at what his reaction was. His face wasn’t blank, but it was hard to read. "It was stupid.” Derek said with a smile. “Returning the favor, huh?" Relief quickly swept over Stiles. He, liked it? Maybe? "So you did like it?" he asked. "After.” Derek answered as he returned to the bed. “When we're both back here, we can see where things go." Derek shot Stiles another smile, and he returned to his work. Stiles left, feeling accomplished. He wasn’t sure what he just set in motion, but regardless of which path they chose, he will have accomplished something. "That went far better than I could've hoped." he said aloud, rushing downstairs to help the others.

 

     "Same here honey.” Marie cackled, her game being far more amusing than she could’ve hoped for. “The moment he turns, and the moment he turns on you, will be all the sweeter. There ain’t no expansion pack for that shit. Today, _today_ , is the day it all ends."

 

     She had ignored the problem for too long. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for Scott, and it wasn’t fair for her. It was the wrong time to bring it up before, and it was easy to hid, to ignore, to pretend it didn’t exist. Now though? There was no way she could deny it. It was forced into their reality. Scott was outside, alone. She could see him through the barricaded windows, going through their bags for anything of use. Now.

     Every step she took was shadowed by dread. She could be making too big a deal out of this. It was a fact of life, one that they would inevitably have to face one day. Maybe that was just another problem with the world? They have all become so used to seeing nothing but death, which manifests itself in a macabre bouquet thrust into the arms of the innocent. But they weren’t innocent, not any more. They were products of their time, and now they are products of their world. She clenched the handle on the door. But, it wasn’t out of fear or dread. Suddenly, a surge of confidence had begun to coarse through her veins. This secret wanted out, it wanted it badly. She would be its conduit.

     “Scott.” she immediately spoke as the door swung open. “We need to talk.” Yet when he turned to her, this fiery spirit burnt out. He was so handsome, so in love with her. He said he would do anything for her, he would die for her, he would never abandon her. The memories rushed forward, of happier and simpler times spent in the crumbling world.

     It could’ve been the look in her face, or the tears in her eyes, or the way she spoke, but he immediately caught on to her new emotional crisis. “Allison,” he replied, “What’s wrong?” The butterflies, the knots, the overwhelming urge to scream and throw up. She could do the latter. It would certainly create an awkward situation neither would want to face. “That all depends on your perception of the word wrong.” she finally said. He had a hint of confusion in his gaze, but his concern had not diminished.

     “Scott,” she continued, “I’m, I’m pregnant.”


	22. War in My Mind

     Scott’s eyes were wide. He literally dropped what he was doing and grabbed her arm. It wasn’t so much that he dragged her inside, more that he was leading her in the direction she was hoping they would go. Physically, that is. She didn’t have enough time to discern a reaction from Scott. Worse still, he was silent as he led her up the staircase, racing past Stiles. He called to both of them, but neither she nor Scott acknowledged him. She didn’t look back either. She didn’t want him to worry either, though given Stiles’ reputation; she imagined he had already thought up the most horrible explanation for this random act.

     Scott threw one of the doors open, and Allison quickly closed it behind them. He let go of her arm, and she realized how tight and sweaty his grip had been. She knew that he was facing her, but she couldn’t look up. She didn’t want to face him.

     But then, then he hugged her, wrapped his arms around Allison and held her so tenderly and close. She’d come to understand and appreciate his body language. And, perhaps that was why this warm embrace was so conflicting. It was melancholy, bittersweet, comforting in the face of adversity. Now she wanted words; a vocal exchange, a clear response. He loosened his hold on her, and he took a small step back. Now their gazes were locked on each other.

     “How do you know?” His tone was, soothing. “Are, are you sure Allison?” She remained silent for some seconds. “I’m positive.” she finally said. She almost laughed; phrasing. “There was a test in the house.” she continued. “I didn’t know if it would work, but I knew it was my only chance of finding out for sure. So, I took it, and it worked. I’m pregnant Scott.” He took a deep breath in, and out. “But how?” he asked. “We were always so careful.” “We never had any actual protection though.” she replied. “We knew we were playing with fire. I guess it was really just a matter of time before we were burned.” “So why did you want us to leave you behind,” he continued, “Why did you want to risk going out there again?”

     Now, she would have to come clean. “Scott,” she began, “I wasn’t sure when the alligators attacked.” “You knew this whole time.” he interjected. “This is what confirmed it. And this is what you really wanted to talk to me about, after Misty was taken.” He had pieced it together. So, no need to tell anything but the entire truth. “I tried my hardest to keep it a secret after that.” she said. “My heart was racing, but, I couldn’t bear to say it. It felt terrifying, like I was going to ruin everything if I said it aloud.” “You could’ve told me, you shouldn’t have buried it.” Bury. _Bury._ “All of the sudden I wanted to die.” Hearing herself say this, Allison felt chills run down her spine. “I didn’t want to bring a baby into this world. If those things could’ve just taken me, dragged me away, it wouldn’t have to know how scary the world is, and I wouldn’t have to be the mother who forced that onto their child.” Scott looked angry. No, angry didn’t sound right. It was too violent a word, too harsh. Upset? That seemed closer. “You would just let yourself die?” His eyes watery, tears raced down his cheeks. “You’d give up?”

     She then became aware of her own tears painting her face. Her vision blurred for a second, and she wiped the water away. He held her again, embraced her. This time, it was not bearing an uncomfortable undertone. He wanted her to feel safe. She did. She buried her face in his shoulder, and she let her emotions take over. She wept. “Scott, I love you. But, I would never want to drag you down. Do you know how dangerous it would be to raise a child in this world?” “You don’t even want to try?” his voice cracked, he was choking back an emotional outpour. “Do you?” she replied. “Scott, we’d have to wait the whole time that I’m in labor. And the baby will cry, and it’ll be like a dinner bell.” “But we have this school.”

     _Duh. Duh! What’s wrong with me?_ “Allison,” he continued, “This place would be perfect for us to raise our kid. Solid walls, a gate, witches protecting us, a stable food supply. We could make this work.” _We can. Maybe, we can make it work._ “Besides, you said that you ‘didn’t’ want to go through all of this. You already know that you’ve changed your mind.” He was right. He was so perfectly comforting right now. “You promise?” she asked. “I promise.” He responded without any hesitation. She lifted her head from Scott’s shoulder, drenched from her tears. His eyes were red from crying, but in this moment he could not possibly appear more handsome, more perfect. His smile, his soft expression, the sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t want to die.” she declared. “I want to be a mommy.” He placed a hand on her belly. “And I want to be a dad.”

     “I’m scared.” she admitted. “Well,” he said, Think of it this way. If we are terrible parents, which I’m not saying we will be, there’s no way MTV can make a show out of us.” No, now it was perfect. He had accepted her pregnancy, enough to now cut the unbearable tension with his humor. A joke, a simple joke, in no way extraordinary or groundbreaking. But in this moment, it was perfect “I would never want to end up on one of those shows.” she chuckled. “See?” he continued. “We’re never going to end up on MTV. We’re safe.”

     She kissed him. She lingered on his lips, on this perfection that had become palpable and intoxicating. “Thank you Scott.”

     The door creaked open, and their heads quickly turned to see who had intruded. It was Lydia. Had they started speaking too loud? Or, was it time to leave? Had they finished in the time it took for this revelation to unfold? For Allison, this was not an intrusion of Lydia, but of a different reality. Scott, the father of their unborn child, could die today. _No, stop. This day is no different than any other. We live day to day_. “Are you guys ready?” she asked. After quickly taking notice of their soaked faces, she posed another question. “Are you guys, ok?” “Yeah,” Allison replied with a sniffle and cough, “We’re fine.” “Bullshit.” Lydia snapped with a smirk. “But, we’ll circle back to this after we save our friends. Girl to girl, alright?” “Sure thing.” said Allison. “Once you’re all back, safe and sound.” Lydia eased her smirk into a soft smile, and gestured for Scott to follow her out.

     “You’ll be ok?” Her hands were held within his own. He wanted her to tell him to stay with her, to hold her and tell her how their future together will be. “I will.” she replied. “Like I said though, you’ll all come back, safe and sound. Ok?” A quick kiss. “I love you Allison.” He looked down at her belly. He didn’t know when she would start to show, but they both knew that there was someone growing. A new life. “And I’m going to love you too.” he whispered. “We can talk names later.” she said. “Now, go, finish this.” He didn’t want to leave her, but the sooner they left, the sooner they could return. Scott left the room, following Lydia downstairs to where Stiles, Madison, Cordelia, and Derek had assembled.

 

     “Are you alright dude?” Stiles asked. “Your eyes seem a little, red.” “It’s nothing we have to worry about.” Lydia replied. “Or, at least I don’t think it is. Right Scott?” “Um, yeah,” he stuttered, “It’s fine. I promise.” “Scott,” said Cordelia, “I need to know that you’re ready and able to do this. These people are monsters.” “Like I said, I promise you Cordelia, that I’m fine. This is something to talk about when we come back. All of us.” “Then I trust you.” said Cordelia. “I don’t have any reason to doubt you.”

     “We’ll have to move quickly,” Cordelia began as they left the school, “We can’t let them gain too much ground. If they make it onto the bridge, we won’t be able to get the jump on them.” “Do we have the plows hooked up?” asked Scott. “Hooked up and with extra cables,” Madison replied, “For when we have to really tear through those fuckers.” "Though it still won't exactly be an easy approach." said Stiles. "There's a lot of city between us and them, and a lot of walkers. The plan is get close enough to at least stop their convoy, and then move in for the kill." "This will also be a very loud operation." Cordelia added. "We need to move fast; otherwise something in this city will kill us. And if we don't save our people fast enough, we could still lose them. The stakes are high, and I'm sure you're all aware of that. I want to thank you now for being so brave."

     Scott didn't want her thanks. He didn't mean any disrespect towards her, she was an amazing hostess and friendlier than anyone they had met in months. She would be the reason Allison can be a mother, the reason they could start a family. But he didn't want to die today. He didn't want to die without seeing what their kid would look like. Would it have his eyes? Her nose? He didn't want her thanks; he wanted her, all of _them_ , to take care of this. What did it matter whether he could fight or not? Once their child is born, he will have to focus on it and Allison above all else. Was he ready for _that_? All the responsibility talks he'd sat though, at home and at school, he'd give anything to hear them again. He wished his mom was still alive. She wouldn't even have to say anything; just having her around would help him.

     He noticed that he had zoned out. Thankfully, not one seemed to noticed, as they had apparently carried on with the conversation, and decided that it was time to ride.

 

     Allison asked to he left alone. Myrtle and Spading respected her request, and departed to somewhere deep within the school. She watched as they loaded up their gear, as they jumped into the cars, as the engines revved and they left. He was gone. And, he might not come back. Here she was, starring out a barred window, her mind lost in a sea of thoughts. Part of her knew she was worrying too much, and that it would do her no good to continue such a course of thought. If anything, it put stresses on her body that could not be handled in her developing condition. Unfortunately, another part of her could not help but allow the mind to race, to imagine, to terrify itself.

     Like a switch, she suddenly started to think about what it would be like to be a mother. Their child would have plenty of room to play, and they could even go outside. It would scare the color out of her hair if they went outside without asking, but they wouldn't be confined behind the walls of the school. And there was food, fresh food, food to be grown that could give their growing child proper nutrition.

     And what of the name? For that matter, did she have a preference for gender? She has never given this subject much thought, even when her suspicions arose. In her defense, could she be blamed? How could she think of starting a family, of naming children, with the world rotting away?

     Now the switch flicked back. This world had long since fallen apart, and the ruins they called home were rotting. Not here though. This was their Garden of Eden, a diamond in the rough, a perfect refuge. They could spend the rest of their days here.

     But how many days could they have left? Despite all the security and sturdiness this school offered, people doubted that this could ever be a reality. Never, ever, did people think that their entire civilization could fall. They were everywhere, and their cities stretched into the skies. Yet it was not important who you were, what race, what gender, what faith, whatever. The world buckled, and humanity fell from its pedestal.

     And that was where they really were, at the bottom, broken and scared. But perhaps this place had never fallen. Cordelia and the others were witches, and have been forced to hide in the shadows as long as they can remember. They were never at the top; they could never allow themselves to be so visible. Not only would they be cast down, they would be dead long before they hit the bottom. When the world fell, they didn't fall with it. They were prepared for this day to come, and just as they had done for all of time, they hid.

     Nothing was broken, and it would remain that way. She moved away from the window, and made her way to the grand living room. She could not play the instrument, but she sat on the piano bench and struck its keys. There was no melody or rhythm, only the raw pieces of music. It was enough for her. She hit keys without any planning, striking what pleased her ears and ignoring those which struck themselves as sour.

     She suddenly realized that Myrtle had joined her in the living room. Her face was marked by age, but it was comforting. She was like a grandmother, with brilliant orange hair and a bold sense of style. She stared at her, and she at Allison. "You have so much on your mind." Myrtle said. "Too much for a girl so young and pretty." Allison laughed at Myrtle's flattery. "If you worry so much you'll look like me in no time." "I can only hope I look that good when I'm your age." said Allison. "If I ever get there." Myrtle joined her in the bench. A gentle and gloved hand placed itself upon her shoulder. "I cannot pretend to know exactly how you feel." she began. "I can tell you, however, that my life before this world ended was never easy. I was forced to endure many hardships, the insufferable stubbornness of people, and greater challenges that my people have faced for generations."

     "I have so much respect for you." said Allison. "I don't know you well, but I can only imagine what it must've been like. And you let us into your world." "I believe in the kindness of strangers, and the people we want to become. And you know, I find that the most effective remedy for internal strife is to simply talk about it." "I've tried, and in the moment, it felt perfect. I felt like it would all get better. But now my mind can't decide what to think of this."

     Myrtle took both of Allison's hands in her own. She looked at her with a tenderness that only years upon years of strength and endurance could bestow upon an individual. It was a look that could tell anyone that she could help them, and even if this could not be true, the belief that it would be could soothe the mind and the soul.

     "You love that boy." Myrtle began. "You confided in him, and that love brought you warmth, security. Now he is gone, and though you know that his return can be all but completely guaranteed, your mind will not allow you to rest so easily." "I want to tell you too," Madison quickly said, "I know that can help me." "I know I can do my best. Many young girls have come to me in search of help, and I have always done my best to ensure I have done all that I can do. So, Allison, dear young Allison, what is it that you told Scott? What is it that without him here by your side, your mind fears for the worst?"

     She already knew it would be easier to tell Myrtle. Scott was her dipping her feet in the water, and now, she wanted to dive in. Still, she needed to breathe, take deep breaths to steady her nerves.

     "I'm pregnant. I'm going to have his baby. I'm, I'm going to be a mother."


	23. Four Count

     _One hour later . . ._

     Thanks to their last “tactical” maneuvering, the herd was now lagging far behind the convoy. It was impossible to move through this city quietly, when one was essentially relocating an entire base of operations. It was entirely manageable, however, to emit an aura that drove away the filthy and strung out survivors hiding in the ruins. It was manageable to keep the biters at bay, to confuse them long enough for the relative safety of the bridge. From there, they could get everything back in order, including the extermination of the last surviving witches.

     Thinking about that statement, Chris wondered if there were any other witches alive in the world. Before everything went dark, he knew that the organization was aware of a handful of additional covens. The majority had already been eradicated, more in the last five decades than the past five hundred years. He couldn’t worry too much about it though. It wasn’t because he didn’t think this was a valid concern, but because he was managing a splitting headache that would come and go as it pleased. And then there was the blank space he remembered for, god knows how long. It worried him. Then again, he couldn’t let it occupy his mind too strongly. Even given their clear superiority, this was a dangerous operation.

     His daughter’s name came into his head. _Allison_. He didn’t remember when he learned that she was alive, but it was sometime today. Was he stressed? Was all of this too much for him? Bullshit, he knew that he was trained to handle intense situations. Granted, the zombie apocalypse wasn’t really a situation they had anticipated, but why would his nerves fail him now. He thought, again, about his daughter. He didn’t want to think that she had sided with the witches. He didn’t want to kill her. He couldn’t, could he? But she knew so little about their history. If he could have even a short chance to talk to her, surely he could convince her to make the right decision. However, he dreaded the possibility of Scott being amongst her group. He never liked the kid. Never. _Him_ he wouldn’t mind killing.

     The brakes of the convoy screeched to a halt. “Why did we stop?” he shouted from within the truck. “There's too much shit in the road,” someone shouted in reply, “We can't just plow through it this time.” _Bullshit_. He hoped out of the truck, completely unaware of the voodoo queen; she made no attempts to hide herself, and sat in plain sight. It was a test of her powers. Of course, he could not possibly be aware of this.

     The man seemed to be telling the truth. Without a doubt they were intended to be some kind of barricade, the semi-trucks rolled onto their sides and lined up bumper to bumper. “These things will take a while to move.” someone else said. “I’m thinking we just pull the two in the middle out, opening the gates so to speak.” “Just make it quick.” Chris replied. “We're exposed, we've been moving way too slowly, and just because we don’t see them doesn’t mean those biters aren't too far behind.” Men began hopping out of the trucks, with cables and hooks in hand. Soon, they would drag the trucks out, and they would be on their way. Once everything was settled, he could also think about how to save Allison.

     Marie chuckled, greatly satisfied with her ability to manipulate the weak. Though In Chris’ defense, he put up a good fight. At her feet were Misty and Queenie, bound and drugged for the countless time. Even though she would have it no other way, the fact that some hunters did this to them sickened her. Those were a group of people who had been around for far too long. Suddenly Misty began to stir. “Coming to?” Misty’s eyes opened, in time to see Marie strike her over the head, sending her back down. Queenie did not follow in Misty’s footsteps. She remained unconscious, her chest heaving up and down. “Now it pains me,” Marie began, “What I'm doing to you.

     “There was a time when I thought I should try to save you from the school. Well, 'save' might be a little too generous. I would've used you to take them down; as I'm sure I could've persuaded you without too much trouble.” Queenie would’ve been a good addition to her clan. From what she had observed of her, she has great potential, but it was all being squandered at the school. She had reached out to her in the form of anonymous gifts, but Queenie never took the advice on the cards to come to the hair salon to discuss business. No doubt she ran to their teacher, and she told her to stay away from the address.

     She could still save her. It wouldn’t be too difficult, not at all. Technically, she could walk out of the truck right now with Queenie, and her powers could protect them from any possible consequences.

     This was a passing thought.

     “In this past year,” she continued, “I've realized that through you, there would always be something of those witches that survived. If I saved you, no matter how much I could push the voodoo on you, you’d still be one of the schoolgirls. They would survive, and that would've been on me.” She propped Queenie up against the inside of the truck. Her hair was greasy and covering her face, her body bearing the marks of the hunters’ torment. She’d been unconscious through so much of this. It was for the better. She shouldn’t die with such memories fresh in her mind.

     She drew her blade. “Queenie, I'm going to do something that I never thought I'd do.” She held it up to her neck. Queenie was a big girl, but the knife would have no trouble slicing all the way down, and through. “Now, let me rephrase that. I never thought I'd do it now, with so many people who can make my life easier.” Queenie was motionless. It wouldn’t be that different when she died. It would all be internal, and from the outside it would seem like nothing changed.

     “I'll kill you. I'll slit your throat while you sleep. It's a kinder fate than what those two will face.” “As my only act of kindness towards you, I'll deny Derek or those hunters the thrill of cutting you down. They're all despicable, but not me. I'm the goddamn voodoo queen.” She pressed the knife against Queenie’s throat. It hadn’t broken the skin, but it was only a light push away. It wouldn’t wake her up. Whatever they did to her, it was intense. She wouldn’t feel any pain. Her last memories would probably be right before she was taken. There could be some hazy ones floating around about what happened in the last two days, but it wouldn’t matter. She pushed a little harder. A thin stream of blood trickled down her neck. Now, to make the kill.

     She hesitated. There was something, a twitch, in the back of her head.

     “Ah,” she said as she sheathed her weapon, “They're right on schedule.” Derek, Scott, Stiles, Cordelia, Lydia, _and_ Madison; witches, a werewolf, and three teenagers who still didn’t know anything about what is truly to come. She decided to poke her head out of the truck. The hunters wouldn’t attack her. They couldn’t. Actually, she realized that there was no one in her immediate eye sight. The attacking group was nowhere to be seen either, but she knew just about where they were. They wouldn’t come much closer before stopping to march over, to free their friends. Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. It was in the sky, just barely visible through the buildings and tree line. There were dark clouds, storm clouds, swelling up there in the sky. For someone living in this city for so long, she knew what this was a warning of. “That's not good.” she said to herself. “Goddamn storm’s on the horizon.” _Why now?_

 

     “Stop!” Cordelia shoved her foot over into the driver’s area and slammed on the brakes. Everyone in the jeep jerked forward, and Stiles could feel the plow from the truck ram them. “Any closer and there's no way we'll get the jump on them.” “Well we just got plow raped by Scott’s truck,” said Stiles, “So maybe a little more of a warning next time, huh?” “Sorry.” “Don’t take it too personally,” said Lydia, “Stiles has a quirky little temper.” “And that makes me sound like a little girl.” “You do start the bickering more often than any of us.” “If we’re done here,” Cordelia interrupted, “We should probably get going.” “Alright,” Stiles replied, “This seems like a safe place to park.”

     The three of them hoped out of the jeep, and the other three were soon at their side. “Sorry about that.” said Scott. “You stopped pretty suddenly.” “My fault.” said Cordelia. “Christ, it stinks!” Madison exclaimed. “You’d think your nose would go numb, but it gets fucking worse every time.” “Yeah,” Lydia added, “You guys wouldn't happen to have a running hose at the school, would you?” “We'll handle, that,” Cordelia replied, “After we're done here. Madison, we're going to send him onto that rooftop.” “Sure thing.”

     The sensation was strange. For Scott at least, it wasn’t what he expected. He thought it would feel like a giant hand picking him up and lifting him into the air. Instead, it felt more like a pressure all around him that pushed him off the ground and into the air. Madison and Cordelia both had very relaxed looks on their faces, assuring him that he would not be harmed. After a few seconds of this, they pushed him to the right, and he landed on the rooftop.

     He quickly crouched down, hiding behind the roof border. He could see the trucks as not-so-distant patches of grey amidst the standard colors of the ruined city. He could also see people, though they didn’t seem to notice him. Through a pair of binoculars he observed their armament, their surprising lack of heavy armor, and their numbers. There were about six of them. There had to be more inside the vehicles.

     “What do you see?” Stiles radioed him. “I see almost a perfect wall of overturned semis.” Scott replied. “It’s completely blocking the road, and they’re got nowhere to go. They're trying to move two of them out of the way, but they're making slow progress. There are a lot of plants and crumbled ruins surrounding them on our side, and they’re exposed on the other side.” “Any numbers?” “Six, but I’m certain there are more of them inside the trucks and stuff.” “Hopefully Madison’s introduction will scare the rest of them out; shake the hornet’s nest.” Scott noticed something moving to his right. It was not by any means in his immediate vicinity, but there marched very clearly a herd of walkers. “I see a herd.” he announced. “They’re maybe a mile away, shuffling very slowly towards us.” “Which direction?” Cordelia asked. “I’m still really bad at the whole north-south thing. Um, they’re to the far right of the trucks.” “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, “We’ll be long gone by the time they arrive.” “Hopefully.” “Scott, stay up there, wait for my signal. Derek and Madison, get into position. Don't let them see you.” “Can do.” Derek replied. “I’ve already got my rock picked out.” said Madison.

 

     “Storm clouds.” One of the men pointed Chris’ attention upward, at the hurricane making its way towards the city. “Don't worry, we'll be gone long before that mess arrives. And we’ll find some place that’s elevated and secure. I already have a few ideas.” “If you say so.” _Clunk!_ “What was that?” “What?” “I thought I heard something.” Chris didn’t have time for this. He asked him where the sound seemed to come from, and he pointed to the ruined shops covered in overgrowth. It was the first time he realized how surrounded they truly were by nature. The overgrowth and the ruins created this zig-zag of a maze that could quickly take someone out of sight. “Probably just a stray.” Chris didn’t pay it any mind, but this fool seemed obsessed. “Take care of it.” Chris ordered. “If you really think it’s something we should be concerned about, go check it out. But I swear to god if you wake something up in there you better hope it kills you.”

     _Clunk!_ “What the hell?” he muttered. “Who's out there?” _Clunk!_ The noise kept getting further from him, though he could never figure out what it was that kept making it. He zig-zagged through the maze-like surroundings, hell-bent on finding out what was going on, who was messing with them, what was luring him away. Foolishly, he had no fear in his heart. He believed more than any of the others that they were safe, invincible. He rounded a corner. There were large piles of garbage and debris. The entire side of the building seemed to have slid off long ago.

     “That's right you little shit head,” Madison muttered to herself, “Follow the magical rock.” “Just a little further.” Derek was waiting behind the largest pile of debris. In his hand he had a brick, a classic and practical bludgeoning tool for all post-apocalyptic needs. _Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!_ Every time without incident the man moved closer to Derek. His fingers clenched the brick, his arms ready to strike. Finally, the man stood but a foot from Derek. He could peak through cracks in the debris and see him. A shotgun would be devastating at this close range. There was no room for error.

     “Come out.” he ordered. “I know you’re back there.”

     _Clunk!_ It came from behind him now. He turned, and Derek leapt. He never saw it coming, and the brick smashed his skull to burry itself deep within.

     There was a loud thud, like more than one body had fallen down. “Did you hear that?” Chris shouted. “God dammit. You two,” he pointed at two of his more competent soldiers, Perez and Ask, “Go check it out. Everyone else, out of the trucks! I think someone's messing with us.”

     Scott watched as armed man after armed man got out of the trucks. In the time it took for Perez and Ash to make it around the corner, fourteen fighters had emerged. Immediately, he relayed the information to Cordelia.

     “Roger that Scott.” she replied. “Derek,” Stiles interrupted, “Take the two guys out and then stay out of sight. You’ve got to move closer to the trucks.” “Roger that Stiles.” Derek replied. “Madison,” Cordelia added, “Make sure they don't find you either.” “No way in hell they'll find me.” she snapped. “Over.” “Scott,” Cordelia continued, “You'll take the first actual shot, once Derek confirms the other two are dead.” “I’ll select that special someone then.” he replied.

     “How exactly can Derek overpower two guys at once?” asked Madison. “I could probably help, if you say the word.” “He's a lot stronger than he looks.” Stiles replied. “But, if it does seem hairy, go nuts.” “That’s all the permission I ever need Stiles.”

     Unfortunately for her, Derek dispatched Perez and Ash without incident. In the blink of an eye on of their necks were broken. In the next blink, Derek’s hand was over the other’s mouth, and he slammed his head against some misplaced rebar. “Holy shit.” said Madison. “They're down, you copy?” “We copy.” Stiles replied. “Alright Scott, you ready?” “Yeah. I've got a clear shot at one of the bigger goons.”

     Now, Chris was furious. Someone was attacking them, but they didn’t have the balls to come out and admit it. They wanted to pick them off one by one, silently, until only one of them was left. “Keep your eyes open.” he ordered. “If these are some coked-up raiders, I will not let them get the best of us.”

     Scott’s target moved out of the crosshairs. Now his head was blocked by a jagged piece of metal. “Just move over a couple of steps.” he whispered. “This will all be easier if you just move over a couple of steps. You asshole.”

     “Ash, Perez?” Chris shouted again. “God dammit! Someone, no, three of you, go check it out.”

     The big guy Scott had targeted took this as a command personally directed at him. He moved back into the crosshairs. He had the perfect shot. It would tear right through the side of his head, send it flying apart like a watermelon with a firework shoved inside it. It was, admittedly, morbid and fucked up to think about killing someone this way, but there was no room for remorse towards those who made the world worse than it already is. He pulled the trigger, and the fleshy watermelon burst.

     “Four count,” Scott announced over the radio, “He’s down!”


	24. Firefight

     "What the fuck?" Before the next move could be made, Scott managed to fire another round off into one of the goons. The bullet impacted his shoulder, staggering him, and Scott fired again. It wasn't as graceful as the first one he took down, but the next shot tunneled through the right eye and emerged at an awkward and deadly again. Of course, he was dead long before he hit the ground. "Sniper," Chris shouted, "Get down!" "I'm not even a sniper," Scott said to himself, "But I'll take the compliment."

     Chris and his men didn't make it behind the trucks before Cordelia and the others opened fire. They weren't aiming for anything in particular, just shooting in the general area of the hunters. Spray and pray for a lack of a better phrase, but it was actually an effective strategy for their surprise attack. Before the hunters sheltered themselves from the metal rain, two more went down. Considering how many they had taken down, a total of seven, this was a devastating and effective surprise. Now it was a matter if whether or not they could keep up the heat.

     Marie quickly stuck her head out. She could hear this entire battle being born, but there weren't any hunters in her immediate vicinity; just as it was a few minutes ago. "Shit!" she exclaimed. "Better stay down. Don't worry Queenie, I'm keeping my word. Anyone come through these doors, I'll turn them right around. Once it all dies down, I'll do you in."

     Once they were sheltered from the gunfire, the hunters were able to quickly organize their counterattack. Within a minute, there was a returning rain of bullets, and the others were forced to temporarily abandon their offense. Cordelia, Stiles, and Lydia were sheltered by about four feet of what was left of a single wall of a single building. The bullets ricocheted and bounced off, sending chunks of concrete, paint, and wood flying. "I guess they have a lot of guns," Stiles shouted, "Huh?" "We knew they would be strong," said Cordelia, "But that's why we came prepared. Madison, Derek, try to flank them. Scott, tell us when we have an opening!"

     "Right now!" Scott shouted. "They're reloading; you've got a couple of seconds!" "Thanks Scott." said Cordelia. "Take a shot whenever you feel the need." She aimed over the wall, and was quickly met with the roar of a machine gun. The turret was fixed atop one of the trucks, the gunner wildly tearing into the ruins and foliage. "Fuck!" Cordelia shouted. "That's some serious firepower!" "We have to take out the turret," said Stiles, "They'll tear through the wall and mow us down! Scott?" "Yeah?" he replied. "Can you get a fix on the turret?" Stiles continued. "I don't think we'll last too long like this." "I've gotta get to a new rooftop," said Scott, "But they know where I am." "Don't do anything stupid, alright? We still need your position to stay secured."

     "No promises." Scott scooted back from the edge of the rooftop. There weren't too many hunters attacking him, but he was pretty sure he heard another turret swiveling towards him. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take. Crawling on his belly, he made it to the back of the building. He could see Stiles and the others crouching behind the wall, buckets chipping away at the cover. He saw Madison for a brief second, before she disappeared. Literally, she disappeared. He chalked it up as more magic, and didn't dwell on it any long. His mind was immediately focused on the walkers appearing from all around them. "Shit. Walkers moving in," he announced, "I think they're coming from inside the buildings." "I see them." Stiles replied. "Scott, get out of there." "You don't have to tell me twice."

     "Move in!"

     Hearing their command, Lydia swung her weapon over the top of the wall. Finger still on the trigger and the rest of her body sheltered from the gunfire, she started shooting. She could hear the bullets tear into someone, maybe some _two_ , and she could hear the other hunters shouting in anger. The turret started to pelt their position, and she pulled her weapon back to the other side.

     "Nice one." said Cordelia. "Where'd you get that idea from?”  asked Stiles. "You and Scott weren't the only ones who played video games." Lydia replied. "To be honest it was my guiltiest pleasure." "What'd you play?" "Gears of War mostly." _Gears of War. Gears of War?_ "You're shitting me." he shouted. "You're a gamer." "Would I lie to you?" Lydia asked. "I also got in three playthroughs of Saints Row the Third before everything hit the fan." "Who the hell are you and what have you done with Lydia?" "Let's stay focused!" Cordelia shouted. "I don't know how those games work but I'm assuming you know we don't have a checkpoint, or more than one life." "Sorry." said Stiles. He imitated Lydia's attack, and he heard a loud "Fuck!" "I think you got one." said Lydia. "Let's have some multiplayer fun, huh?" "Capture the flag," said Stiles, "With people instead of flags and death instead of rage quitting."

     "Madison," said Cordelia, "I trust you have a target?" "Yeah. Is it time?" "Do it."

     Madison locked her eyes on a hunter, and with the flex of her fingers set him ablaze. He reacted very wildly, screaming and flailing his arms. "Put him out," one of the other hunters shouted, "Hurry!" Some of them pushed him down, throwing dirt over his burning body. Then out of the trucks came a fire extinguisher, dousing the flames but coming too late to save the burning hunter. Another down, and the battle was approaching an end. They had to take breaks from the firefight to stop the advance of the walkers.

     The roar of a sniper rifle was followed by a painful meeting between the bullet and Cordelia's exposed arm. "Dammit!" she shouted. "Dammit!" "Are you alright?" Stiles asked. "I'm fine, it grazed me." Stiles looked at where the bullet had struck her, and where it impacted behind them. Behind them was a small crater. In front of him, there was an arm with a wound that looked like boiling water was being poured onto it. "Your skin is sizzling." he said. "What did they do to you?" "It’s nothing, it didn't go deep. It won't kill me." "If you say so." Stiles replied. "I take it this is one of those things you were worried about?" Lydia asked. "Yes," Cordelia replied, "But I don't know which element they've laced it with." "I just took a sniper down," said Scott, "There aren't too many of them left." "And the turret?" Stiles asked. "Do you have a shot?" There was a pause.

     "It's down, move in!"

     "Good job Scott." said Lydia. "They're falling back; I'm going for the gun. Cover me!" Lydia leapt out from behind the wall, dodging the incoming fire. "Lydia!" Stiles shouted. "What happened to our co-op?" "I'm going for the flag," she replied, "You make sure I don't get shot down." "Goddammit. Alright, Cordelia, let's cover her." There was actually not a pressing need to protect Lydia. The hostile fire had been severely reduced, the hunters loading their remaining men onto the trucks. Those in the rear of the convoy came to life, their engines revving and sending the trucks in reverse. The one which had housed the turret seemed to be abandoned, and Lydia climbed up the front to sit herself in the gunner's chair. "Get ready to die!"

     Marie decided she had to leave, at least for now. "I better slip out." she said to Queenie. "I'll be back." She jumped out as the truck began to move. She didn't think she was within eyeshot of anyone. If the witches saw her, it could ruin everything. There was the loud ricochet of a bullet from behind her, and it quickly found its way through her shoulder, and then another through her chest. The pain was unimaginable; the hunters had laced it with something that made her wound boil and burn. "Fuck! Selling my soul has _never_ seemed like such a good decision."

     Stiles and Cordelia left the cover of the wall and rushed to the truck Lydia had commandeered. A few hundred feet away from them now, Stiles spotted another turret rising onto the top of a truck. "Lydia," Stiles shouted, "Another turret." "I see it." With minimal accuracy at her disposal, she was able to land several key shots on the distant gunner, his body and the turret landing with a thud. "I think they had more hunters inside the trucks." said Lydia. "They're dying down, but I know I see new faces." "Don't worry," said Cordelia, "We have the machine gun now." "I'm going to check the inside." said Stiles. ''Maybe they're in there." "I'll check the other truck." said Cordelia.

     "Scott," said Lydia, "I have to take care of the walkers. You don't need to land a perfect shot at them, but keep shooting at the hunters." "That I can do." Turning the turret on the walkers, the bullets tore them apart like the rotting sacks of flesh they were. The vibrations of the gun shoot her whole body, and she could almost feel the satisfaction of taking down each additional corpse. "Stiles," she shouted, "How's it going down there?" "This one's empty." he replied. "Same with this one!" Cordelia added. "Well there's only one other truck with us." said Lydia. "If they're not in that one, we still need to catch the hunters."

     "Bring them out." Chris ordered. "What?" Sometimes it pained him to think about how idiotic his other hunters were. They were almost stereotypical henchmen. "We're not doing this," he continued, "Not when we have the upper advantage."

     "Guys, stop shooting." said Scott. "Why the hell would we do that?" Cordelia replied. "They're finally in a corner; they don't have anywhere to go." "If you don't want to be the reason they die, you'll all come out and face us."

     Lydia peeked over the turret. Queenie and Misty were held up on the shoulders of the hunters, their heads hanging by their limp necks. "Why?" Cordelia shouted. "So you can gun us all down?" They could hear one of the hunters laugh, the one who must've been their commander. "We do have some idea of pride, a code. We won't just gun you down. And I want the one on the rooftop to come down too." "You want _him_ to come down too?" "Yes." "Madison," Cordelia whispered, "They don't know you're here, stay hidden." "Sure thing." "Derek?" Cordelia continued. "Are you in position?" "I'm here." "Good. Stay there and do not give yourself away." Cautiously, Cordelia exposed herself. The hunters had their guns aiming at her, but they didn't pull the trigger. Then again, they weren't all out yet. "We're coming out!" she shouted. "You'll keep your word?" "Just hurry up."

     Cordelia helped Scott get down from the rooftop. Stiles and Lydia followed everyone with their hands in the air, into a clearing with the hunters and their friends. "Where are the others?" Stiles whispered. "The ones that were with Derek?" "We can't worry about that right now." Cordelia replied. "Just stay focused." "That's far enough!" Chris shouted. "And stop whispering." He spent a few seconds looking Cordelia over. He did not approach her, but his eyes went over every inch of her body. "Cordelia Foxx." He was surprised to see how much she had recovered. _She must be the Supreme. This day just keeps getting better and better_. "You're looking much better." "Thank you." she replied. "I wouldn't want to look shitty for this little get together, would I?"

     Stiles couldn't believe that Mr. Argent was alive, or, for lack of a better word, a villain. A hunter? What would Allison think of this? "Holy shit." Chris said. "Isn't this just a wonderful reunion?" Out of three, none of them immediately mustered the courage to respond to Mr. Argent. It was disorienting to some extent, shocking in its entirety, and confusing on a whole new level. Lydia decided to break this silence. "Hi Mr. Argent." she said. "This is, um, an awkward reunion, isn't it?" "Where's my daughter?" Chris snapped. "What?" "What the fuck do you think I mean? Where is my daughter, where is Allison?"


	25. More to Come

     Myrtle presented Allison with another baby toy. This one was an adorable and aged Raggedy Anne, with one of the button eyes a bright blue instead of black. "Since this little bird will not know any grandparents," said Myrtle, "I will personally take it upon myself to spoil it." Allison laughed. Myrtle was such a kind woman, the kind of elderly woman everyone would want as a grandmother. Or at least that's what she was feeling. "You're too much Myrtle." said Allison. "I still can't believe you guys have this many dolls. Where did you get all of them?" Of course, Myrtle lied and said they were leftovers from when the school housed very young girls. To say they were discovered in an almost shrine-like arrangement in Spalding's room might ruin the magic.

     He was still there, barley out of sight, watching them touch his dolls. Myrtle had something of an argument with him, though he finally relented. Apparently, he still felt it necessary to watch them.

     "It has been some time since the little _pitter patter_ of a child’s feet has graced these halls. I will enjoy hearing them again." Allison turned away from Myrtle, but she could hear the young girl sniffling and crying. "This is an emotional time, isn't it? Your child's father is risking his life for our safety. Or, did you not think that you would be so lucky?" "I still don't know if I am lucky." Allison replied. "But I know that I can be happy."

     "Can I tell you a story?" Myrtle asked. "Of course." she replied. "Maybe a year before this outbreak happened, my dear Cordelia decided that she wanted to become a mother. She was married to a handsome young man, and the two of them would no doubt produce beautiful children. Fiona despised him, but that is irrelevant. Anyways, she rushed to the doctor's office when it seemed that her body was changing, only to discover that, in addition to not being pregnant, she could not have children." "I'm so sorry." "That's what I said to her, over and over again. She was furious. She tried so many times to spark life inside of her, but she was never successful. Not even magic could help her."

     Myrtle held Alison's hands. "Regardless of what the state of the world is, to carry life inside you is a gift. It may not be the most ideal situation, but you are bringing some good into the world." Allison choked back her years. "If we didn't have this school," she began, "I don't think I could go through with this. Out there, I, I don't even want to think about how bad it would be." "You're safer now. And soon they will all return, safe and sound, and with two extra guests." Allison had a somewhat random thought pop into her head. "I can only imagine what my dad would think." she said. "I mean, I got knocked up, to put it bluntly." "Nonsense," Myrtle declared, "You're not some wild child, spreading her legs for any boy with a pulse. Madison may be, but not you. You love Scott, don't you?" "Of course." She would love him forever, until the day she died and then still after that. "Then this is a testament to your love."

 

     "I'll ask you again," Chris was losing his composure, "Where is she?" He had his gun aimed at Stiles. Already the thought of the bullet tearing through him was at the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he wouldn't give in. "And I'll tell you the same thing." he replied. "She's safe." Chris smiled. "If that's the way you want to be," he said, "I guess I'll have to make you squirm a little." He pressed the gun to Misty's temple, his finger trembling on the trigger. "Don't!" Lydia shouted. "Please, please don't." Chris looked at Lydia, then at Misty, and then back at Lydia. He took the gun away from her head.

     "Why not?" he asked. "Lydia, you're a smart girl. Why did you choose this life? Why did you decide to side with _them?_ " He pointed the gun at Misty again. Lydia could feel her heart racing, demanding her to take action. " _Them?_ " Lydia replied. " _She_ , Misty, is my friend. What difference does this make? How has she changed, how does me knowing she has magical abilities suddenly prompt me to, what, think of her as evil? Should I want to kill her?" Chris looked so disappointed in her. "If you only-" "No." Scott was quick to cut him off. "I don't care what excuse you give. There is no reason for you or anyone else to hunt people down. Why not just start hunting black people, or gay people? I mean, you're born a witch, right?" "Right." Cordelia replied. Chris looked at Lydia. "Is that what you think too?" "I would say that I'm sorry," she replied, "Except I have nothing to be sorry for. You're a backwards piece of shit and you will die, _today_."

     Madison lost track of where Derek was, but she had managed to sneak right behind them, placing herself within the cluster of trucks. Her target was the man on the turret, arguably the reason why they were in this situation right now. She was confident in her transmutation abilities, but she wanted to get just ever so slightly closer before she snuck up on him. She knew time was not on her side though.

     "Maybe I was wrong about you." Chris finally said. "Or maybe you need something to shock that brain of yours into submission." The gun was back on Misty's temple. He was pushing hard, and to them it was surprising that he had not pulled the trigger yet. "No," Lydia pleaded again, "You can't so this. Just, don't." She was at a loss for words. She didn't want to talk, she wanted to fight, to kill this asshole and make him suffer. It was a burning desire, matched only by her desire to keep Misty alive.

     Madison transported herself right behind the gunner, with less than an inch of space between her bodies. She knew that she heard him, so she wasted no time in covering his mouth with her hand, and thrusting a knife into the back of his neck. "Surprise bitch." she whispered as the blood began to run out of the wound, spilling into her skin and clothes. It was gross, but not disgusting. She had done far worse with the living, and done far worse to the undead.

     "Fine." Chris pulled the gun away from Misty's head. Madison quietly took contort of the turret, but her movements had to be as slow as possible to prevent the metal parts from whining and giving away her position.

     In the blink of an eye, Chris spun around and pulled the trigger. A bullet raced through Queenie's head in a bloody eruption. The two men holding her up released her body, limp and lifeless, and allowed it to thud on the ruined road. Her eyes were closed. They had been closed for so long, and now then would never open again.

     For a moment, no one said anything, not even the hunters. Stiles felt sick, but when he turned to see Cordelia her expression terrified him. The color had crisped away from her face, and already tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Queenie!" She screamed so loudly. "Oh my god, no, no! Queenie!"

 

     Marie shed tears over Queenie. "No!" she whispered to herself. "Dammit, I said I wouldn't let that happen to her. Queenie I am so sorry, you deserved better than that."

 

     Stiles decided to try to comfort Cordelia, but she shoved him away. "But why stop there?" As Chris aimed the gun at Misty once more, Cordelia's hands shot up. Stiles was suddenly terrified and excited. He was mortified that they had just witnessed an execution, but he was excited to see what Cordelia was capable of.

     "Go to hell you bastards!" Before Cordelia could make a move, Madison had the turret release a metallic rain of death upon the remaining hunters. They dropped Misty and dove for cover, and so the others took advantage of the surprise attack and charged. Cordelia lit one of the men on fire before lifting him high into the air. Stiles was captivated by the spectacle. The main flailed and screamed and burned, but Cordelia only raised him higher into the air. When he was perhaps fifty feet up, she released him. Seconds later, he landed in a molten splatter.

     "We're getting out of here!" These three hunters had veered off from the others, preferring to risk the wilderness instead of the wrath of the witches. Unfortunately, they were running into a trap. Behind one of the trucks, Derek was waiting, his claws out and his eyes glowing with inhuman fire.

     Chris leapt for the open door of one of the trucks, when a force ripped him back and threw him against the side of a building. He wasn't sure if he heard the rubble breaking or one of his bones, but he scrambled to his feet. When he brought his head up, he was completely surrounded, guns aimed at his head. "Don't move!" Cordelia shouted punching him. "If you try anything I swear to god I will burn you where you are!"

     "I think that's all of them." said Stiles. "Madison?" "I don't see any others." she replied. "I'm coming down now." Derek?" Stiles shouted. "You still alive?" "Yeah." He came around the corner of a truck, blood splatter decorating his chest. "I don't want to know," Stiles continued, "But are they all dead?"

     "All of them." Derek replied. "Except for this asshole."

     Madison took a running start and kicked Chris in the shoulder. This time, the loud crack was surely a bone. "Nice one." said Derek. "You bastard!" she yelled at Chris. "You killed her! You killed her you fucking bastard you killed her!" "I think we've established what I did to your friend,” Chris spotted his weapon within his reach, "But the real question is what'll happen to the rest of you." He made a commendable effort, but Madison slammed her foot on his arm, breaking yet another bone. "You should've stayed down." she said with a smirk. "Now, the real question is what'll happen to you?"

     "Madison wait!" Cordelia stopped Madison from doing, whatever it was that had planned. "Why?" she snapped. "Why not kill this asshole right now?" "We will kill him," she replied, "But first I want him to explain himself. I want him to tell me why we deserve to die, why he shot Queenie."

     "There's no use trying to reason with your kind." It was harder for Chris to talk through the pain. Madison was brutal, and his whole body ached from Cordelia's attack. "And you kids, I'm very disappointed in you." Stiles pushed his way forward and punched Chris. "Nice one." said Derek. "He'll definitely have that black eye for a while." "I never did like you Mr. Argent." said Stiles. "There was always something hostile about you." "The feeling's mutual Stiles." "Do we tell Allison?" asked Lydia. "Would she even want to know he's alive? At least, for now?"

     "You can kill me," he quickly shouted, "However you like and as slowly as you want, but just let me see my daughter." Madison kicked his jaw. "Shut up," she said, "You're not making demands, not after what you've done. Because of you, Nan was eaten alive, and you shot Queenie. Honestly, I don't know what would be an appropriate punishment for you." Madison was preparing to do something, but Cordelia grabbed her shoulder. "Madison," she said sternly, "Don't make it so easy on him. Let's be creative.

     "Stiles, Lydia," she changed her tone, "Go see what you can find in the trucks. We'll decide what to do with him." "Can do." Stiles and Lydia replied in unison.

 

     "Out of all the people who could've survived this long," said Lydia, "Allison's dad is one of them? And he's a witch hunter?" "This whole world is a fucking freak show." said Stiles. "But hey, it's not like we have any other options." "I wish we did. I would take the old world and all of its stupidity if it meant never having to come back to all of this." Lydia noticed pairs of feet on the other side of one of the trucks. "Looks like the guys Derek took down." she said. "I'm going to take a look at them." "Be careful.

     Rounding the corner, she saw three of the hunters, their chests impaled with what could describe as a rebar club. "Jesus Christ." she said. "Derek, you're kind of freaking me out here. If he could do this to them, what could he do to us?" No. "No, he's on our side. He's had plenty of chances or turn on us. And besides, with Cordelia and-" _Claws. Claws. Claws._ That was all she could think of. Whoa." she exclaimed. Stiles jogged over to her. "What?" She turned his head to the dead bodies, and then up the truck. "Whoa." On the side of the truck facing them, there were claw marks. _Five_ , five distinct gashes, tearing through the metal and surrounded by blood and gore. "What the hell makes a mark like that?" Lydia asked. "Something with some wicked claws." Stiles replied. "Not one of the gators." "Now way it was one of the gators."

     They turned back to the bodies, and noticed that on the rocks behind them, there were identical claw marks, but without the blood and gore surrounding them. "They're here too." said Lydia. "Are they anywhere else?" The two quickly scanned their immediate vicinity. "Only where Derek killed them." said Stiles. For him, this was a major red flag. He had almost forgotten about how Derek bled that black sludge yesterday, the same that Cordelia had bled when she was becoming the Supreme. He certainly wasn't a witch, was he? He would hide that, he had no reason to. But the claws. Could he have claws? How could he have claws?

     "Come on," Lydia chuckled, "Don't be crazy. He's not your standard mysterious stranger, but Derek is definitely a human." _Is he? He has to be. Or, he's some other kind of magical creature. I mean, Cordelia's a human, but she can do freaky shit with her mind. I wonder what Derek is then._ "Yeah," he finally replied, "He's definitely a human. Let's bring back those crates we found, and tell them about how much more there is." "And the claw marks?" "Don't. For now, we don't need to worry about something else." "But if it's a new predator-" "Then we'll tell them later. I think they need some time for all of this to process."

 

     "I still don't think this is a good idea." said Madison. Scott and Cordelia were tying Chris up, and stuffing shreds of Scott's shirt into his mouth. "At least you didn't lose a shirt." said Scott. "Never said I wasn't enjoying the view." Madison replied, adding a wink at the end. "It isn't a good idea." said Cordelia. "He should be dead right now. But I want him to explain why he would have his daughter and her friends killed, in the name of a ridiculous and archaic creed. I want him to throw out his shitty excuses before we kill him." "You-" Cordelia slapped him, her nails slicing into his cheek and drawing blood. "No talking," she snapped, "At least not yet."

     Madison gestured at Cordelia to turn around. Stiles and Lydia were carrying two large wooden crates. "Looks like a nice haul." said Scott. "Stiles, Lydia," said Cordelia, "We're taking him with us. What did you find?" "Tons of shit. Literally, tons, there's no way we can take it all with us. Right here though, we've got a bunch of food and water." "Great job you two. Derek, Scott, take Mr. Argent back to our ride. Madison, help Misty back there as well." "What about Queenie?" Madison asked. "We can't leave her here. I won't leave her here. I was a bitch to her, but, I don't have to be a bitch to her anymore.

     Cordelia could see the water in Madison's eyes. She liked to pretend she was so tough, so cold. But at the end of the day, the true her could always shine through. "I'll help Lydia and Stiles unload some of their supplies." she relied. "Then I'll take her with us. We can bury her at the school. I would never consider leaving her here." "But we won't bury him," Madison snapped, "We'll kill him and throw him into a horde of those walkers." "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	26. Fathers

     Her feet were tapping against the floor, her index finger tapping the table. "What time is it?" She knew she was asking that too many times. "Past noon." Myrtle replied from the other room. Thankfully, she was very patient with her. It only made Allison feel closer to her, more drawn to her. "Spalding should almost be done with lunch." Myrtle continued as she rejoined Madison with a book and two cups of tea. "Drink little dove; it'll calm your nerves." Myrtle glanced at her feet and fingers, and Allison restrained them. She took the tea and sipped at the sweet liquid. "They've been gone for a long time." said Allison. "Why aren't they back?" "Be patient my dear, they'll return. A matter such as this should take a long time to settle." Allison quickly downed the rest of her tea. "I guess you're right."

     Outside, they heard the faint roar of a truck. The sound was unfamiliar, but then she Aldo heard Stiles' jeep, and their own truck. "Well would you look at that." said Myrtle. "They'll get to have their lunch fresh and warm." Allison peaked out from the boards over the windows. She could see Stiles, and Scott, and her heart began to beat like a drum. She smiled. She was worrying herself over nothing. They had defeated these hunters, and they took some of their vehicles. It was better than she could've expected. She left the window and ran for the door.

     This was actually the first time Stiles had seen the barricade open up somewhere other than the front gate. The vehicle gate slid open, _magic_ , and they parked their vehicles into a crowded clump on the front yard. Thank god they didn't need to worry about resale. "She's on the porch." Stiles said to Scott. "And she's got that smile." "What kind of smile?" Scott replied. "You know which one. That one you get all giddy and shit over." "Fuck. She's not going to like this." "She isn't supposed to." Cordelia interrupted. "But, it only has to last as long as she wants. After that, we can kill him and talk it out." "Alright. Lydia, Madison, get him out."

     Lydia and Madison dragged Chris to the porch of the school. Scott and Stiles were carrying Misty on their shoulders, and Cordelia was a final obstruction. They didn't want Allison to see him just yet.

     "Did everyone make it?" she quickly asked. "Guys, I was so worried, I was afraid that-" There was a look on Cordelia's face. Allison quickly read it. "Someone died." She wasn't asking. She knew. "They shot one of the witches," Stiles replied, "Queenie." "And she's dead?" It seemed pointless to ask this question, but she wanted to pretend that _maybe_ someone hadn't been killed. "He shot her right in the head." Cordelia made a gun with her hand, and pressed her fingers against her temple. "She wasn't conscious. That's the only good I can pull from that." "And now," Madison shouted as she and Lydia brought Chris forward, "He's going to explain himself to you."

     They threw him into the porch, his face slamming into the wooden construct. He kept his face there, hidden for his daughter. "If you don't face her," said Cordelia, "You will be begging for death to come." Allison's heart had not stopped racing since she heard the vehicles return, but not it beat with anxiety and fear. Who was it that they had brought back? She must know who he is. Yes, yes, she must know him. There was something familiar about him. Something, intimately familiar. "Now!" Cordelia ordered. He obeyed, and revealed his beaten, bloody, and fatherly face to her.

     The tears immediately swelled and poured. "Dad?" Her voice was already broken, weakened by disbelief. "He was one of them Allison." said Lydia. "He was their leader, the way things seemed." She looked at him. Blood, bruises, cuts, and a hardened face she recognized but refused to believe could belong to her dad. He was never much of a softie, but this was something entirely different. And, what? He was their leader? A leader of these witch hunters? The lead murderer, of murderers? "No." she declared in denial. "No, I don't believe you." She locked eyes with her father, searching for answers that she couldn't accept didn't exist."

     "Dad," she said, "Please say something." Silence. He was ignoring her. _He's ignoring me!_ "Dad!" She screamed, and he flinched. "Allison," he finally replied, "They're right." If a heart could break, she would've sworn to god that hers had just shattered. "Allison," he continued, "Just let me explain. These witches are-" She punched him. She screamed first, and then she threw a wild fist to strike the side of his face. There was some kind of break, but not in her fist. He spat out a tooth, surfing on a wave of blood. "I thought you were dead!" She was shouting, and kicked his knee. "Instead you've been hunting people?" She kicked his other knee. "How long?" Before she could land another kick, Stiles held her back. "There'll be time for that," he whispered to her, "But not now."

     She conceded to Stiles. He was right. Right now she wanted answers. The very essence of rage was coursing through her veins. She was hoping it wouldn't harm her child. "How long?" she asked once more. "Our family was born into this." He replied quickly for a man being beaten to death by his daughter. "If it wasn't for the outbreak, you would've found out that year, and I would've started teaching you what my father taught me."

     "I could never be this kind of person." She was trying to control her temper, but failing. "I'm not a murderer. I've only killed to protect myself and my friends." Chris sighed. He was disappointed in his daughter. It was not solely on her allegiance to the witches, but that she had associated herself with people he _knows_ encouraged her downfall. "If someone would please just let me explain-" She kicked his jaw, sending more teeth out of his mouth on that red tide called Blood. "Explain what?" she shouted. "Please darling," Myrtle interrupted, "Don't overwork yourself. In your condition, even this early, it could be harmful." Scott was immediately by her side. "Condition?" Lydia asked. "Allison, what's wrong?" She smiled. "I'm pregnant. With Scott's baby, dad."

     Lydia shrieked, and laughed, and ran to Allison. She pulled her into a tight embrace. "Allison, oh my god! You're going to be a mom!" "Congratulations." Stiles gave Scott a hug. "I think you'll learn to be a good dad." "Thanks," Scott replied, "I think." Allison caught the shock in her father's eyes. "What?" she snapped. "I suppose I'm going to hear how disappointed you are? How you wish you could've been there to protect me?" "I'm sorry." he quickly replied. "If I knew you were pregnant, I wouldn't have be so, careless." She scoffed. "Well, I had my suspicions for a while, but I took a test last night. That's when I knew for sure."

     "Allison," her dad continued, "You have to know that I still love you. I wish I could have more time to explain this to you." She kneeled down, and grabbed one of his hands. She held it tight, and gave it a kiss. "I love you too dad. I just hate what you've become. What you always were, I guess. Maybe I don't love you then, if this is what you always were." She could see the heartbreak in his eyes. At least for now, it was satisfying. "What're we going to do with him?" she asked as she stood. She took Scott's hand and kissed him. It was to anger her father, and for her own comfort.

     "I know that he's going to die." said Madison. "Question is, how slowly we make it happen, and which part do we cut off first?" "Allison." He sounded panicked. "Just let me say something." "No more dad. There's nothing left for you to say. Do whatever you want with him."

     Madison slammed her boot on his back. "I'll take that as an open invitation." She grabbed one of his legs, and Cordelia the other, and with everyone else, they dragged him into the school.

 

     "I couldn't agree more." said Marie. "Open invitation, ha, they don't even know how true that is. Now, let's have a little more fun." The voodoo doll was almost finished. All that was left was to add the hair, Chris' hair. The average idiot would probably find it ironic that a voodoo queen doesn't spend all of her time playing with dolls. Then again, when did she care about when she fit the stereotypes laid out in Hollywood? Was Hollywood even in existence anymore?

 

     Misty started to come to, so the majority of the group broke off to make sure she had the help she needed if she would need it. Cordelia and Madison continued to drag Chris, heading towards the back door to the school.

     Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, like someone had run a pin through them. He groaned and cried out in pain. "Shut up," Madison snapped, "Save it for when we're actually killing you. Now, how do we do this?" "I say we start out with something fun," Cordelia replied, "Like setting him on fire." "Cordelia," Madison chuckled, "I love this dark side. Or," she took an axe off the wall, "Maybe Misty would you like the honors of taking the first swing?" "She may be too weak." Cordelia replied. "But, since you made the suggestion, why don't you take the first swing?" "Gladly."

     When she brought he axe up to make her swing, Chris' mind went blank. She didn't notice this internal strife, but he did. He felt removed from his body, and confused. Then, there wasn't a single thought running through his head. Then, and this is what Madison and Cordelia could now witness, he sprung to life. He launched himself down the hall, and grabbed an overhead light fixture. From that he swung, back and forth, back and forth, his face blank and emotionless. "What the hell?" Madison shouted. "Where did that come from?" "Something's wrong," Cordelia replied, "He doesn't seem to be acting on his own accord." He leapt from the fixture and attached himself to the wall. His fingers dug in, blood trickling down in thin streams. "That's a fucking understatement." said Madison. "But, let's kill him, that hasn't changed."

     As soon as she finished speaking he leapt out of the hallway. "Dammit!" Scott and the others heard the shouting from where they had gathered. "He's like a little lizard." "What the hell is going on in there?" Misty asked. "Don't worry," said Stiles, "We'll figure it out." Spalding pushed through to Misty, handing her a cup of tea. "Thank you." "What the hell?" Stiles pointed everyone to Mr. Argent, who was on the _ceiling_ , axe in his mouth and blood dripping from his hands.

 

     "This is too much fun," said Marie, "And I'm serious. A grown woman like me shouldn't be so invested in this little game. Then again, why the fuck do I care what someone would think of me? This is the fullest potential of the voodoo doll." She could see through his eyes, and this allowed her unimaginable accuracy and agility with the doll.

 

     "Look out!" He launched from the ceiling, and his head turned. He would not use his hands to wield the axe; he was going to use his jaw. Everyone scattered in a frantic rush. Spalding was, unfortunately, not fast enough, and with an elbow shoving him back, the swing of the axe split his head like a ripe melon. "Oh my god," Myrtle shrieked, "Spalding!" "Why is he doing that?" Lydia shouted. "And why isn't he dead?" Madison flexed her fingers at Mr. Argent, and flames erupted from his back. He screamed, and his body writhed for a few seconds. It was, to put it lightly, a haunting sight to witness.

     As though he suddenly chose to ignore the pain, he pounced onto Lydia, who quickly knocked the axe out of his mouth. "Oh my god!" she shouted. "Get him off me!" The flames on his back were spreading, and she could feel the fire jumping onto her. As the others overcame their panic and shock, Misty sprang into action. "I've got this!" She grabbed the axe and brought it down on his back with all her might. It came through Mr. Argent, the blade piercing him and stopping inches from Lydia's breasts. The life immediately drained from him. There was no death rattle, no dramatic coughing up of blood. There was only the immediate _thud_ of his body on the floor. Lydia quickly patted the flames off of her legs, and the others stomped the flames out that had spread to the floor and furniture.

     "I'm so sorry," Cordelia began, "We should've caught him. Dammit, he killed Spalding!" "Is anyone else hurt?" Madison asked. "Anyone?" "We're fine," said Lydia, "a thanks to Misty." "It was no big deal." she said. "But, it felt pretty good putting that bastard down." "Allison?" Scott asked. She was curled up behind the sofa, tears soaking her face. "Allison, are you alright?" "I really don't think I am. Why the hell did he do that?" "Someone was controlling him." Cordelia replied. "It was some powerful magic." "I was fine with him dying. He deserved it. But seeing _this_? He's done horrible things to us, but he was still my dad. It should be a dream come true to find your family in all of this, but he's nothing but a nightmare. How can I remember him like this?" She broke down. It must've been inevitable, and everyone must've been expecting it, but no one had anticipated his sudden reanimation and death at the hands of Misty. With all of the insanity over the last couple of days, this took the crown. For now.

     "I'm sorry Allison." said Misty. She curled up beside her and Scott. "I know what it's like to have a shitty dad." _Am I really going to share this? Should I? No, don't second guess it._ "My dad was the worst thing a child could have in their life. I can't get into detail but, he raped me. Again, and again, year after year." The room had an icy silence to it now. "I'm so sorry Misty." Allison sniffled. "And then," Misty continued, "He burned me. My dad, my mom, and all their friends dragged me out of my house in the middle of the night, tied me up in the middle of the swamp, and set me on fire."

     "What?" This was all Allison could utter. Everyone had the same expression on their face. Their eyes were wide, jaws dropped, a quivering wetness in their eyes that gave way to tears. "I was burned alive just before the news of the disease hit New Orleans. Then I was out of it for a few days while I healed myself. And, I kind of just hid in the swamps when it seemed like the shit was hitting the fan. Finally, before I found you guys, I took a little revenge."

     "Misty," Lydia began, "I had no idea. Your skin looks amazing," she had to kill _some_ of the tension, otherwise they'd all freeze to death, "I could never have told that you were burned." Thankfully, the joke seemed to be a hit with Misty. She chuckled. "It's this mud that I can brew up." she said. "It takes care of anything." _Almost anything_. She didn't save Danny. _Wait, Danny. No._ She needed to finish with Allison first. "Misty?" Lydia brought her out of her thoughts. "Sorry. But Allison," she continued, "I'm telling you this because I never got to know a good side of my dad. He was rotten until the day I killed him." Thinking about it, that probably sounded a lot worse in real life than in her head. With Allison's dad, that was five fathers she killed. "You have some memories of him before all of this happened. He was still a hunter, sure, but you didn't know that. All he was to you was a loving father. He loved you, right?" "I'd like to pretend he did." she replied.

     "Then," Misty continued, "For whenever you need it, and for as long as you need it, hold on to those memories. He wasn't the man he was today. I'm not excusing him and I'm not forgiving him, but I am telling you that you don't need to have a war in your mind over this. Find the positives I this world. We need to take them, however they come." There was another silence for a few seconds. Then, Allison wrapped her arms around Misty. She cried into her shoulders, but she felt better about herself. They both did. "Thank you Misty." she said. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. I can't imagine how terrible that must've been." "Well, I'm here now, making the best of everything. It isn't easy at first. It never is."

     "Madison?" Lydia whispered, allowing Misty and Allison to have their moment. "Should we, um, get rid of the body?" "Yeah. Then, do you want to help me dig a grave for Queenie?" "Sure thing. Derek, we could use the muscle." "Not like I have anything better to do." he said. "Spalding was a loyal attendant." Myrtle interrupted. "He'll be given a proper burial as well. In his absence, I'll clean up the blood and burn marks." "What a fucked up afternoon." said Stiles. He noticed that Cordelia had slipped away, and was heading towards the stairs. He decided to follow her, not for any reason other than to escape this mess and to talk.

     He met her at the top of the stairs, staring out a window that hadn't been barricaded. There was something, off, in her look. "You saw them too," she said, "Didn't you?" He was confused. He looked out the window to see what she was talking about. Was a herd approaching? No. It wasn't a herd. It was much worse "The clouds?" he asked "Yes. I don't think this city could survive a hurricane. A year of neglect and fighting doesn't explain create an ideal environment." "I wish that the problems could stop building up for at least one afternoon. Can we hold it out here?" A pause. "I don't think this school could survive another storm." A chill that ran down his spine and gripped him. "But, hasn't it made it through the other ones?" "When the city wasn't rotting away, or being overtaken by nature. Besides, this one looks big."

     They were going to have to leave. But where would they go this time? They could only wander for a few months before Allison would really start to show. And, she would have to slow down too. "What're we going to do?" She had to have an answer. The Supreme must have an answer. An _answer_ , not sustained silence. "Cordelia?" "It's funny." He could tell that she wasn't speaking to him "I accepted that it _might_ happen one day, but I never imagined actually having to leave the school behind. Our kind has called this place home for generations." _Great, she's rambling. Alright, maybe that was rude_. "Cordelia?" he tried again. "Do we have a plan?"

     He almost tapped her shoulder when she spun around and rushed back down the stairs. "We have to take as much as we can with us. It doesn't matter if we're the only witches left alive; we have to save some of it." She still hadn't actually addressed him yet. It was a little frustrating, but the last thing she said resonated with him. It was something of a crisis of existence she was having. "I'm taking this as a 'yes,'" he shouted as he followed her downstairs, "In that we have a plan? Or, you have a plan, at least." Halfway down, she stopped to face him. "Yes." _Finally!_ "We're all going to make it out of this city."


	27. The Coming Storm

    Despite the terrible tragedies which had occurred only minutes earlier, the sadness quickly dissipated in the living room. It would have a lingering touch on all of them, but Misty's joy for Allison's pregnancy had elevated the feelings in the room. There wasn't much to be happy about in the new world, but when Misty found something she loved, one would swear that they could physically feel their emotions changing.

    “I can't wait to have a baby running around here with us.” Misty giggled. “I love babies; they're just the cutest little things ever.” “It's good to have you back Misty.” said Scott. “It hasn't been the same without you.” “I was afraid I'd never see any of you again.” said Misty. “And, before I forget, I met a boy named Danny.” The room became gloomy once more. “We found him.” said Allison. “We know that they killed him too.” Then the hardest part was already over. “The thing is,” Misty began, “I saved him. They stabbed him, and we were able to cut ourselves free. And then I healed him. He was going to make it.” She started to sniffle and cry.

    “It's fine Misty.” Allison assured her. “You tried, no, you did save him. As much as it hurts, it doesn't matter if he's dead now. What matters is that when he was alive, you were trying to make the best of it.” Misty wiped the tears from her eyes. “I'm a healer Allison. To have life be ripped away like that is, horrible, like a living hell. But thank you for your kind words.” Alison's eyes drifted down to her belly. “The more I think about it,” she said, “The more I'm looking forward to being a mom here.” Lydia, Madison, and Derek rejoined them in the living room. “Everything taken care of?” Scott asked. “Yeah.” Madison replied. “Sure you don't want to say anything?” “Not for that man.” Allison snapped. “I understand.” said Madison.

    Cordelia and Stiles rejoined the group downstairs. “I've already said some things for Queenie.” said Madison. “So did Myrtle.” Cordelia’s silence drew the attention to her, and Stiles. It wasn’t a glaring giveaway, but the concern on her face was easily discerned. “What's wrong?” Madison asked. Cordelia glanced at Stiles, and then at the others. “We're going to have to leave.” she quickly announced. Allison felt like someone had torn her out of a dream world.

    “What?” she replied. “Why?” “A storm is coming.” Stiles quickly replied. “A hurricane.” Those negative feelings that left the room? Now new ones occupied the empty space. “Oh my god.” said Allison. “But, isn't there a chance this school could survive?” “If it did,” Cordelia replied, “Which I'm almost certain it couldn't, it would be nothing more than another crumbled building. It wouldn’t be fit to live in. It wouldn’t be fit to raise a child in.” “This is terrible.” Myrtle declared. “Our kind has lived here for decades.”

    “A hurricane,” Allison whispered to herself, “A hurricane. How am I going to raise this baby without a place to call home?” “Allison,” Scott interrupted, “We can still make this work.” “But Scott, how?” She was crying again. Admittedly, Scott didn’t know too much about the technical side of pregnancy, but he knew that all of this stress couldn’t be good for Allison. His mind was trying to gear him towards being a dad. Before he could make a move, Cordelia swooped in. She held Allison’s hands and tilted her head up. “Allison,” she began, “We'll make it. It certainly doesn't carry as much status as it would in a civilized world, but I am the Supreme. It is my duty to protect the coven and its allies. I'm going to get us out of the city, and find us a new home.”

    If anyone, Cordelia was a living example of how there could still be hope for the world. She was at her lowest when they found her, and she quickly ascended to what is essentially witch royalty. A fire was lit inside of her, which had saved their friend, at the cost of her own people. And yet, she still took them in, offering them shelter and food. At least for the moment, Allison found the strength to collect herself. “I trust you.” Cordelia smiled, and she helped Allison up. “I mean,” Allison continued, “It's not like you have a reason to lie to us. And, I think we all remember what it’s like to be in a hurricane.” “No need to remind me.” said Stiles. “I swear to god I was like one of those little dogs that scampers all over the fucking place.”

    “So,” Lydia interrupted, “Where do we go? And, how do we go?”

    Cordelia vanished. _No, she literally just disappeared. That will never stop being cool!_ “What the hell?” Scott asked. “Don’t worry,” said Madison, “It’s a witch thing.” "Transmutation." Myrtle added. "One of the Seven Wonders, if you recall." "Right." She reappeared with a rolled up sheet of paper in her hands. She motioned for everyone to follow her. She led them to the coffee table, which they all gathered around. She spread the sheet out over its surface, and placed two lamps on each end to hold it in place. It was a map of roughly half the United States, red markings and scribbles populating everything from Louisiana to the Midwest.

     “The current variation of this evacuation was tweaked due to the, apocalyptic, conditions." Cordelia began. "Before the world ended I started backing up our more valuable texts and artwork on a flash drive. Thankfully, that will greatly reduce the amount of time it will take to pack up our valuables. That being said, it will still take several hours to secure everything that is absolutely irreplaceable, the things that are gone forever once we lose them." "No biggie." said Lydia. "We know what it's like to have to pack it all up and move out." "And I think we have plenty of space." said Madison. "We could take the fucking piano if we wanted to. Wait, we're not, are we?" "No," Cordelia replied, "We could find one of those anywhere.

     "Once everything is loaded up we'll head into the Midwest. We have a number of supply caches up there, caches that could take us anywhere we need to go. Each was stashed with a worst case scenario in mind, so there will be consumables, weapons, and other useful materials.” "The Midwest was hit a little softer than the rest of the country." said Myrtle. "While I in no way expect a pleasant stroll through the ruins, we will certainly find it more manageable than our beloved swampland of a home." “Will we take the scenic route," asked Stiles, "The one past Raccoon City?”

    “Actually," Cordelia replied, "We will. There are some valuable supplies we can pick up on the way, and even more in the forests around the Arklay Mountains. Since it was always our backup plan to head there, some of the best supplies are closest to the city. At our closest, we'll be about ten miles away. We would probably be able to see the ruins from a tall summit.” “But if we find a nice, sturdy place to hunker down in," said Allison, "We'll take it, right?” Cordelia pondered the inquiry. “If it can support all of us," she replied, "Then of course.

    “Now, I'm going to need all of you to help pack up. There are things we absolutely have to take with us, and things I want us to have on hand if there is room for them. Since we've received a generous donation of trucks from our enemies, I doubt running out of room will be an issue for us.” “Do you have a list?” Lydia asked. “Actually," Cordelia replied, "That would make things easier. Give me a minute. You don't have to wait around; I'll call all of you back when I'm ready. Myrtle, do we have any pens?"

     “Hey," Scott walked out the door with Allison "It's not like you'll be going through this on your own. We'll be there for you.” “I know." she replied. "It's silly of me to be so worried about this.” "Damn right it is." Lydia joined the two of them out on the porch. "Allison, in case you didn't notice, there are two people here who have already decided that they will spoil this kid. Now, this may be a stretch, but I'm also assuming that means they'll want to make sure it grows up to be a big healthy person." "Alright, I get it; I'm being paranoid and stupid." "Not the way I would've phrased it." said Lydia. "I would've used some big, complicated words."

     Truthfully, she wasn't as moved on as she would like them to believe. But, she knew that now wasn't the time. After they escape the city, then maybe she can behave more honestly. Cordelia interrupted them on the porch. “I've got the lists ready.”

 

    “Stiles and Derek, go to the greenhouse.”

     "Sure thing. Let's go."

    “Allison, Scott, gather these portraits.”

     "Easy enough, right?"

    “Lydia, Madison, Misty, find these books and scrolls.”

     "Sounds boring."

    “Myrtle, could you help me with the rations?”

     "Of course."

 

    The greenhouse was a beautiful vision of what the world once was: beautiful, and full of life and color. Stiles didn't recognize most of the plants he saw in the greenhouse. Some actually looked like they had been plucked from the pages of a fantasy story. Looking at the list, he didn't recognize a single name. Granted they were all scientific names, the Latin mumbo jumbo from textbooks, but that could only excuse so much. “These are some wild names," he said to Derek, "Huh? It's like reading another language. Which, it actually is.” “Definitely some craziness going on in this place.” Derek replied. “Still, I'll take this over what's crawling and shuffling around out there.”

    _No, not now. Then again, why the fuck not? I mean, what's the point in trying to have any kind of self-control, right? Alright, maybe I'm not that pathetic. But, we're alone. What's one more kiss?_ “Derek?" He approached him, taking the potted plant from his hands and setting it on the ground. "You know how I can't leave well enough alone?” He had, essentially, no experience in kissing. Still, how hard could it be? He leaned in, titling his head sideways, and kissed him. No matter how many times he did this, Stiles knew that it would never lose its magic. That is, if there was anything truly mutual, anything at all. Derek lightly pushed away. It was the only really gentle thing he'd done since they met. "All too well.” Derek replied.

 

     _Go ahead. You need some kind of release before tonight._

 

     Derek returned to Stiles’ lips, and his hands grabbed Stiles’ ass. “Wait,” Stiles pulled away, gasping for air, “Is this happening?” “Do you want it to?” Derek quickly replied. Stiles didn’t have to think twice. If he did, he would’ve internally talked himself out of this. “Yes.” Derek released him, and set their lists down beside the plants on the far side of the room. He slipped out his jacket and shirt, and threw them onto some of the smaller plants. They fell and their pots shattered, but Stiles didn’t care, and neither did Derek. He was actually taken back; this was the first time he'd seen Derek this exposed. His body was as statuesque as he had imagined, with muscles that could've been carved from marble, and every vein, every bulge, every definition line begged for him to come closer.

     He was immobilized, and fortunately, Derek realized this and approached him. _Even better in motion_. Already Stiles could feel the sweat dripping from his hairline. His heart started racing, but he managed to find his ability to move. He met Derek halfway, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. His skin was smooth, with just enough hair on his chest. He felt as hard as a rock, and yes, _that applies to two things now. Wait, three_. Derek titled his head and met Stiles’ lips once more.

     He ran his fingers through Derek's short, soft black hair. He pulled his mouth away, catching his breath. Their eyes were locked on each other, a burning desire in Derek’s gaze that mad Stiles shake. He felt Derek's hands slide down his back, onto his ass. It was firm, but also gentle. He didn’t have a lot of experience getting groped, so words were eluding him. But, he knew was ready. Stiles titled his head forward again, meeting Derek's lips with a new surge of ecstasy.

     Derek must've felt his yearning, for he pulled Stiles closer to him. His bare, sweaty chest was pressing against him. He pried himself away to cast off his own shirt, and Derek quickly pulled him back. Looking back, Stiles thought about all the times he’d watch porn stars simply feeling up each other’s bodies, moaning as the grinded against each other, their skin pressed against their partner’s. He always wondered how genuine their arousal was. Now he knew that, if anything, it was a cheap imitation of the real thing. He realized that they had not made an effort to stifle their moaning. Again, he didn’t care.

     Derek's hands grabbed a hold of each of Stiles’ thighs, and he lifted him up. Stiles arched his head back, and Derek’s tongue slid along his tongue. “Oh fuck.” He wanted to feel closer to Derek. He needed to get his clothes off, tear them off if he needed to. Derek swept the pots and test tubes off the table behind them, and he slammed Stiles onto it. He escaped Derek’s tongue long enough to begin unbuttoning his jeans. Derek followed suit. Stiles slipped his jeans off, sitting in his tighty-whiteys, but Derek has apparently been going commando. A brave choice, when wearing jeans. Stiles only need one bad experience with that to never try it again.

     He returned to Derek's lips, and the sensation was even greater. Derek’s hand slipped into his briefs, stroking him and teasing his head. He didn't care if anyone could hear, and he moaned louder. Derek returned the favor. He pulled Stiles’ cock out, grinding against him and working his hands onto his ass. Derek was getting more aggressive, more forceful, and it felt incredible. Stiles was always worried that his first time would be awkward, but so far it was nothing but sublime. Then again, they had not actually gone all the way. That would probably be another story. But, why was he worrying about that when a man with a body that could make a model jealous was rubbing his cock against him?

     He looked down and could see the precum glistening on both of their cocks. Derek looked down as well, and he went down to his knees. He grabbed Stiles’ cock and slipped his lips over the head. Stiles _knew_ that he had some serious experience. Or, he was just an incredibly pent up virgin who would probably end up coming early. Or, it was both. He threw his head back when Derek’s lips slid further down his cock. He fell back on the table, trying with all his might to hold himself together. He didn’t know if coming now would end this, but if it did, he would be sorely disappointed.

     He had to pull Derek off of him. “Holy shit,” he said, “I don’t want to come yet. But keep doing that.” Derek went back to work, and Stiles was quickly on his back again, squirming and moaning as Derek’s lips, tongue, and hands drove him crazy. For a solid minute Derek sucked him, and through it all he was able to keep himself from coming. Never had he ever had to concentrate so hard on something.

     After that euphoric minute, Derek stood back up to climb onto the table. Stiles tried to get up, but Derek pushed him down. He stood on his knees over Stiles, and sat down on his chest. His cock inches from his mouth, Stiles opened up. His gag immediately got the better of him, and he had to push Derek’s cock out of his mouth. “Sorry,” he quickly said, “It’s not like I have a lot of experience with this.” “It’s fine,” Derek replied, “Just take your time.” He took a deep breath, and nodded for Derek to try again. This time Derek didn’t push as much in, and Stiles was able to manage it. He tried his best to imitate what Derek was doing to him. And, it seemed to be working. He looked up to see Derek’s eyes squeezed shut, his hands behind his head. He pushed more of his cock into Stiles’ mouth, but his gag didn’t react. He did, however, have to catch his breath, though Derek stole this moment by planting a kiss. His tongue slid into Stiles’ mouth, and his teeth grabbing his lips.

     He had to pull away to catch his breath, and once he did, he returned to Derek’s cock. Reciprocating Stiles’ increasing vigor, Derek began to push his cock in and out of Stiles’ mouth, at the same time reaching around to stroke Stiles. He freed his mouth again. “Derek,” he gasped, “I’m going to come if you keep that up.” Derek smirked. “You saying you don’t want to?” Stiles didn’t have time to answer. Derek spat into his hand, and with his free hand he pinned Stiles onto his back. It felt strange having someone else bring him so close to a climax. He was _not_ complaining. He felt himself losing control; it was going to happen any second now. He squirmed under Derek’s palm.

     “Fuck,” he uttered, “Fuck.” Technically, it _was_ coming hands free, since he had not actually touched himself at all. He could feel his cum shooting out, and flowing down his cock. He could feel himself throbbing in Derek’s hands, and he drew a heavy breath every time another pump of cum left his cock. Derek looked back, and wiped some of the cum on his palm. Still on top of Stiles and still unbearably close to his face, he started jacking himself off. At first, he was worried about cleaning it out of his hair. Then, he mentally kicked himself for thinking of turning down a facial. He watched Derek bring himself closer and closer to the edge. His abs flexed, his free hand slid across his chest, and he just kept _moaning_. He closed his eyes just before he felt the warm splash of Derek’s cum all over his face.

     If he could change anything about what just happened, he would do no such thing.

 

     The sun had already set, and there were only a few slivers of color in the sky. It would not be long before they too would fade, and night would come. Of course, the darkness of night had already befallen the city, the storm having moved well over the ruins. Rain was falling, and the winds were picking up. "Are we all done?" asked Cordelia. Everyone was outside, soaked by the storm and anxious to leave. "Yep," Stiles replied from within the truck, "That's the last of it. Wow, it got dark pretty fast." "We'll leave immediately." Cordelia replied. "Myrtle, you and Stiles will join me in the biggest truck, the one with all the space in the back. Scott, you'll go with Allison and Misty is your truck. And Lydia, as you've requested, you'll be driving Stiles' jeep. And Derek, you'll be joining her."

    They wasted no time in sheltering themselves within their vehicles. Stiles took the shotgun seat beside Cordelia, and Myrtle hopped in the back with their cargo. He was still tired from his time with Derek, and still checking his mouth like a paranoid lunatic. “Stiles," said Cordelia, "You're going to be my navigator.” “Oh, alright, ok.” “You alright?” “Um, yeah, I’m fine.” She scoffed, and looked him over. She then rolled her eyes. “This was a boarding school for girls and girls alone." _Um, alright? I thought we went over that already._ "I’ve started to catch on when someone, um, has a little fun.” “Fun?” Stiles was not feigning ignorance, he was legitimately unaware of what she was implying. She was aware of this, and clarified. “Madison was a wild girl.” _That was obvious too. Oh shit._ “Oh my god," he said, "This just got very awkward. Oh shit, is there still some on me?”

    She laughed. “It’s fine, I’m not going to give you a detention or anything. And, no, you’re fine I didn't know you and Derek were an item." "We're not. We've just kissed, shared some awkward conversations, and then, um, yeah, in the greenhouse. We broke some of the potted plants.” She smiled, holding back her laughter with her hand. “It’s fine Stiles. Like I said, I’m not going to punish you.” "Ok. But, why is it so funny?" "Mainly because you're so charmingly awkward. It's refreshing, and it's nice to see that the world hasn't totally changed you" "He is quite the looker," Myrtle interrupted, "Is he not? Such a sculpted figure.” “Alright Myrtle," Cordelia interrupted, "Now it actually is getting a little awkward.” “Can’t an old woman marvel at the young and beautiful?” She scoffed, jokingly, and retreated into the back of the truck.

    Cordelia looked in her rear view mirrors. The school had been her home for so long. Her mother abandoned her here, but it became more of a home than she ever could've hoped for. “Goodbye." she said. "One day, when things are different, I promise I'll come back." She turned on her radio. "Is everyone ready?” “And anxious to get out of here." Misty replied. "The storm is really moving in.” “We’ll escape it." Cordelia replied. "Alright, remember to follow me and keep. Don’t stop unless someone falls out. As irreplaceable what we're carrying is, an artifact isn’t worth more than any of you.” She glanced at Stiles. “Consider yourselves no longer as our guests, but as a part of our coven, our family.” A year had gone by, and never had anything felt so comforting to hear. "Thank you." he replied.

     The gates opened, for the final time. "Alright," said Cordelia, "Move out."


	28. The Bridge

     “Swept away in the currents.” The window was not facing the storm, so the winds and rain did not pelt her. Rather, she had a perfect view of the causeway. “This storm couldn't have come at a better time.” She felt pressure in her head. She concentrated on it, leveling out her pet's desires. “All he has to do is hold it together until they're halfway across,” she began, “When it's too late to turn back and too late to go any further.” She saw the full moon, though it was largely obscured by the clouds. “Just a little longer.”

 

     “This doesn't really seem safe.” said Stiles. The rain was much heavier now, and the winds were howling fiercely outside the truck. “You have a better idea for getting out of the city?” Cordelia asked. “You're doing great,” he replied, “Keep it up.” “Right or left?” “Right.” Rounding the corner, the truck plowed through a small group of walkers. At such a relatively high speed, their bodies splattered and burst under the might of the plow. Comically, their blood splashed across the windshield, though it was quickly washed away by the rain. “Wow,” said Stiles, “Those were juicy. Good thing it's raining.” Cordelia grabbed her radio. “The storm's really moving in fast.” she began. “Everyone alright?” “Yeah,” Scott replied, “We're fine.” “Same here.” Lydia added.

     “We'll get there in time,” Stiles interrupted, “Right?” “I hope so.” Cordelia jokingly replied. “Stiles, don't worry about it.” “I'm not worried, I'm just concerned.” Cordelia scoffed. “I’m afraid I've got to call some bullshit on that. What's bugging you?” What wasn't bugging him? But, he couldn't just unload to her. He didn't fully understand all of what was bothering him, how could she? Better to make up a white lie. “Um, well, it's kind of, silly. Stupid, really.” “I'm all ears.” “Do you think when the winds pick up that the walkers will get, you know, thrown around? Like cows in a tornado?” Cordelia was silent. She seemed confused, hopefully enough to throw her off. Then, she smiled. “We'll be fine.” she replied. “That you didn't answer with a _yes_ or a _no_ kind of makes me think you think it'll happen.” She laughed. “Right?” she asked. “No,” he replied, “Straight.

     “We should be coming up on the bridge any second now.” he continued. “Not that I thought of a better idea, but, going across that bridge seems like a very bad idea now that I think about it.” Maybe it wasn't entirely a white lie. All kinds of wonderful fantasies danced around in his head. His dad always told Stiles he was expecting the impossible during a hurricane. What if there was a tsunami that rushed up over the bridge, sweeping them down into the dark depths of the lake? Or maybe the winds would pick them up and toss them around like a child's toy. “It's our only option.” said Cordelia. “The storm will tear the school apart in no time, and this is the most direct route. Any other way will get us trapped in the storm with no way out.” A lightning bolt struck a car at the end of the street to their left. “I'll just be glad when it's over.” said Stiles.

     They finally cleared the clutter of the city, and they were about to get on the bridge. Cordelia was driving on what would be called the wrong side of the road, if this was still a civilized world. On the right side of the road, there was such a high density of abandoned cars that there would be no hope of getting through. On the other hand, there was a heavy barricade on the road ahead of them, from the days of the early quarantine. “We're going to ram it,” said Stiles, “Aren't we?” “Well we're not flying over it.” Cordelia replied. “Yeah but I mean, that thing was made to stop exactly what we're doing. And they were made to last.”

     Cordelia smirked. “Hold on.” Slamming on the accelerator, Stiles was surprised at how much speed the truck was able to pick up. He was actually pushed back in his seat.

     It smashed into the barricade, and the two were jerked back and forth in their seats. The truck did not break through, but instead it tore the old structure from the ground and carried it on its hood. Cordelia swerved to her left, and the barricade slipped off and over the side of the bridge. “Nice.” said Stiles. “Thanks.” she replied. “And Stiles, calm down. You're letting your fears make you paranoid.” “Sorry. It's probably a full moon or something. But hey, you would make a _great_ monster truck driver.” She laughed. “That's a good backup career.” she agreed. “Maybe something to look into when the world is rebuilt.”

     Scott carefully steered them through the debris from Cordelia's stunt. “Wow,” he said, “Anyone else feel like that would make a great entrance for a monster truck driver?” “Totally,” said Misty, “Especially with that little swerve she did to shake it off.” “I never liked hurricane weather.” said Misty. “I guess I'm just not a genuine Louisiana gal.” Scott chuckled. “Well,” he said, “I'm pretty sure that you and everyone else who lived here felt the same way.” Allison was staring out the window. “This is a long bridge.” she said. “Longer when you've actually got to cross it. In a hurricane.” A surge of water splashed over the abandoned cars on the other side, one of them shifting a good foot. “We'll be fine.” Misty assured her. “They're big waves, but they're on the other side of the bridge. And honestly, that's the worst thing we have to worry about tight now. So, girl, chill.”

 

     Marie followed them onto the bridge, trailing behind at a very far distance. She allowed them a few minutes of smooth sailing, waiting for them to strand themselves on the bridge. She could feel Derek yearning to transform. “Soon.” She looked forward to letting go of him. She looked forward to letting go of all of it really. It was tiring, and a distraction. Without a doubt it was necessary for her to do, but it would feel so good for it to end. And as much as she hated to admit it, it was a very serious distraction. Maintaining her immortality would finally be her top priority. She was still amazed that she was able to find a baby while the world was falling apart. Then again, it did make it easier to steal. The family was already dead, so if anything, she spared it a very painful and terrifying death.

     Of course, she'd rather face down an entire army of walkers if she could never see Papa Legba's face again.

 

     “Full moon.” Lydia directed Derek's attention outside the windows. The full moon had finally, completely, appeared from behind the cloud cover. Even at the mercy of a storm, the moon shined with an unmatchable brilliance. Derek could feel his powers heating up, his mind desiring nothing more than to roar and begin the killing. But Marie held him back. It was so close, but he needed to wait just a minute longer. “We probably won't be able to see that for very long.” she continued. “Once the storm's over us, it'll be covered up in the clouds.”

     She noticed that Derek seemed on edge. His fingers were tapping his thighs, and his feet were tapping against the floor of the jeep. You alright?” she asked. “Yeah.” he quickly replied. He could just be really afraid of the storm. It would be pretty ironic, such a tough man to be taken down by a little rain, and lightning, and _wow that wave was really big_. “Holy shit,” Derek suddenly shouted, “Look!” “What?” Startled, Lydia looked out the driver's window. It was dark. _What the hell did he see?_ “Derek, what the fuck did-”

     There was a horrendous pain in her chest. She could feel each individual blade pierce her. Looking down, she saw that they weren't blades, but claws, the same five claws that must've left the marks on the trucks, and the rocks. She looked across from her to see Derek's eyes glowing red, and his face distorted. He looked like he was part wolf. He even had fangs. “Why?” she whimpered. “Why?” He jerked his hand further into her, and she felt the claws come out the other side. She couldn't scream; her body was gripped by shock. “Now,” he growled, “You're going to help me a little more.”

     He jerked his claws up, tearing through Lydia and sending a wave of gore into the jeep. Lydia reached for her radio, but the darkness of death came crashing down on her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, the last thing she witnessed being the jeep swerving. Derek opened his door, and leapt from the jeep as it swerved violently, tumbling and breaking through the side of the bridge. It hit the lake with a huge splash, but the darkness of the storm and the evening concealed the crimson gore mess still coming out of Lydia.

     Stiles noticed the swerve, but not Derek's evacuation, and threw his foot over Cordelia's to slam on the brake. “Oh my god,” he shouted, “Stop!” Their truck was immediately met with the impact of Scott's vehicle on its rear bumper. Stiles and Cordelia were jerked forward, but neither of them had any injuries to complain about. Stiles ran out of the truck like a madman, back to where the bridge was busted open. “Stiles,” Scott shouted over the radio, “What-” “Lydia!” This was all Stiles shouted as he ran through the rain. “Stiles!” Cordelia shouted. “Myrtle, stay here.”

     “No!” Allison kicked her door open and ran after Stiles. “Alison,” Scott shouted, “Wait!” Misty quickly followed into the downpour, and Scott followed her. “Lydia!” Allison shouted. “Lydia!” Misty echoed. Everyone quickly gathered at the edge of the bridge. “What happened?” Misty asked hysterically. “I don't know,” Stiles said as tears came to his eyes, “It looked like they lost control.” “How?” Allison was crying as well. “Can you see them?” Scott asked. Everyone peered over the side, though the increasing winds discouraged them from going too close. “I see your jeep!” Misty shouted, as the rear tires sank beneath the surface. “Not anymore.” she concluded.

     “Step aside,” Cordelia ordered, “Let me try something. Madison, Misty, help me lift the jeep.” The three witches flexed their hands at the water, their eyes closed and squinting in some deep state of concentration. There was a rumbling beneath the waves, and the jeep began to rise from the water. “Do you see them?” Cordelia asked. Misty opened her eyes as the jeep spun around. Lydia was there, with half of her body hanging out of the windshield. There was glass in her face, and her chest looked like something had carved her up. Misty screamed when all the others did, and the jeep dropped back into the water.

     “Oh my god!” Stiles shouted. “Lydia! Lydia!” Allison broke down, falling to her knees. “We can't leave her!” she shouted. “We can't leave her, I won't!”

     No one was able to hold it together. Stiles joined Allison and the two held each other as they cried, screaming for Lydia to come back. Misty hid her face in her palms, a gasping and broken cry echoing the fits of Allison and Stiles. Scott tried to hold the tears back, to try to be the composed one, but he failed miserably. Even Madison and Cordelia cried, the latter moved more by how much everyone seemed to care for her. Like all of them, she was so young.

     “Allison.” Scott sniffled. “We need to get in the truck.” “Scott,” she snapped, “Not Lydia. Not, Lydia!” She buried her face in Stiles' chest and screamed. “Scott,” said Stiles, “We were all supposed to make it. We beat them. We were supposed to make it. Did you see her face? That's the last time we will ever see her, and she was mutilated!” Through everyone's crying and screaming, Scott heard something else. It sounded like a growl. “Did you hear that?” He asked Cordelia and Madison, who were the most composed out of the group. “What?” Cordelia asked. Her question was immediately followed by a fearsome roar that overpowered the rage of the storm. The others stopped crying. The situation had suddenly become much more terrifying.

     “That.” Scott replied. Whatever it was, it was coming from the other side of the bridge. Now that they had actually stopped their outbursts, they could hear claws scurrying over the abandoned cars lined up all along the bridge. “What is that?” Misty asked. Stiles felt like he wanted to throw up. Lydia said that they should tell the others about the claws, and he had shut her down. She worried about it being another predator, and he wouldn't even entertain the idea. Suddenly, the creature leapt onto the hood of a school bus a few hundred feet behind them. The storm was disrupting the light cast by the full moon, but there was just enough to reveal its powerful figure, its claws, and its glowing red eyes. Cordelia felt as though the blood had frozen in her veins.

     “What the fuck is that thing?” Madison shouted as she aimed her pistol at it. The creature roared again and leapt from the bus, sprinting towards them. “It doesn't matter,” Cordelia shouted, “Just run!” The downpour, the tragedy, the creature. So many emotions were spiraling around inside their bodies as they ran for their lives. The creature was incredibly fast, and was closing the gap between it and them. “Don't look back!” Cordelia ordered. “Everyone just run for the truck and don't look back!” Myrtle poked her head out to update herself on the disaster. It was nothing short of a new nightmare. “Run!” she shouted. “Faster, it's catching up!”

     They were at the doors to the truck, and Stiles disobeyed Cordelia. He looked back to see the creature terrifyingly close to them. For a brief instant, something seemed familiar about it. About, _him._

     Myrtle stepped back inside and Cordelia leapt in, Stiles quickly following her. Everyone frantically rushed through the doors, for they weren't truly safe until they were closed. Even then, were they really safe? Safety wouldn't come until they were racing down the bridge. The creature roared, and Stiles looked outside again. It would be at the door in a few seconds. It was at this time that Stiles noticed how dark the truck was, ironic in the face of a full moon. He looked at the door, expecting it to slam shut. Instead, he saw Misty _outside,_ her hand inches from the door. “Misty!” By the time he shouted her name, the creature attacked. She vanished from his sight screaming.

     “Misty!” he shouted. “I'm coming!” He shoved Allison and Madison aside and jumped out of the truck. “Stiles!” he heard Scott shout at him. “Get back here!”

     The rain was pelting him, and though it was darker overall, the clouds had parted enough for the light of the full moon to cast a haunting glow on the bridge ahead of them. That was where he saw Misty, maybe a hundred feet away of him.

     She was bleeding, enough for it to be distinguished from the darkness and the rain, but she was alive. “Misty!” he raced towards her. “I'm coming!” “Stiles,” she shouted, “It's still here!” “I know, but I'm not leaving you!” He looked back over his shoulder. Scott and Madison were chasing after him, and Myrtle was standing in the rain. Cordelia was tugging at her arm, trying to pull her back inside.

     A flash of lighting lit the scene up. She had claw marks on her arms and chest, but the ones on her arms seemed to be deeper. It also revealed the creature running through the cars on the other side of the bridge. It was running right beside him the entire time. It leapt out, but Stiles was able to avoid it without much effort. Unsuccessful, it dove back into the cars. A few feet away from Misty he slipped, landing flat on his ass right beside her.

     “Hey,” he said, “Let's get you out of here.” Scott and Madison joined them a few seconds later. Madison helped Stiles up, and Scott Misty. “Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again!” Scott said to Stiles. “Wait for _us_ to come with you.” “I wasn't going to take a chance with Misty.” Stiles replied. There was an overturned pickup further ahead of them. The creature jumped on top of it as lightning struck the bridge, illuminating the beast in a brilliantly horrible display. “Let's wrap this up in the truck.” said Madison. “Move, move, move!”


	29. The Voodoo Queen

     “Hurry!” As she shouted, Cordelia realized that it was about time she used the powers she was given. Enduring a minor mental strain, she was able to pluck all four of them off the ground and pull them back inside the truck. Allison shut the doors as soon as they were all inside, also shielding them from the ever-worsening storm. “How are you?” Cordelia asked, almost tearing Misty’s boots apart to get to her mud. “Whatever it was,” Misty replied, “It really fucked me up. But, I think I'll make it.”

     The truck shook, and a fearsome roar was accompanied by the awful sound of metal tearing. They also heard something shattering, glass breaking and landing in the rain. “Can we please get out of here?” Allison shouted. “Already on it.” Stiles replied as he clambered into the front. The keys were in, the truck was still on, and the doors were locked. And there it was, in front of the truck. It had broken their headlights, and as a result darkness was still its ally. Stiles starred at it. It was hairy, furry, and it was heaving. This thing was looking back at him. He knew because its eyes were glowing. This was not a mindless monster. There were gears turning in its head, it was thinking.

     “Punch it!” Cordelia shouted. Broken from his trance, Stiles slammed on the gas and the truck burned out. Evidently, the parking break had been on. Rectifying this, the truck lurched forward, skidding down the soaked road. The creature leapt out of the way at the last possible second, though it was arguably the least of their worries anymore. Without any lights to show the road ahead, Stiles was the team captain for a very dangerous game. Furthermore, this truck was a substantial step up from his jeep. He felt like he was driving a monster.

     A lightning bolt struck a few car lengths ahead, illuminating the road around it in a painfully bright glow. Stiles shielded his eyes, ducking his head down and to the left, and the creature was running beside them. Stiles quickly checked the speedometer. _Thirty_. He was by no means a speed demon, but for a creature to maintain a chase at thirty miles an hour was impressive. The light from the bolt began to fade as the creature started to lag behind, slipping out of Stiles’ field of vision. He had to keep his eyes on the road anyways.

     As soon as he could no longer distinguish the thing from the darkness around them, he lost control of the truck. He knew it wasn’t his fault. He could actually hear the tire blow out, feel the metal grinding against the road. The truck initiated some bizarre hydroplaning maneuver, but since Stiles had not brought the truck up to any impressive speed, it reached a grinding halt after its first roll. His seatbelt squeezed his body against the seat, suspending him upside-down in the truck. He heard the others scrambling around in the back.

     “What the hell Stiles?” It was Madison shouting at him. “You had one fucking job!” “He slashed the tires!” Stiles replied. “Sorry I didn't, I don't know, order the military grade wheels. Maybe we should’ve budgeted a little better, huh?” “Stop fighting children!” Myrtle chimed in. “I would through you both in a time out corner if we had the luxury!”

     _Alright, I’m upside-down. How do I get out of this seat without fucking myself up?_ Stiles held on to the steering wheel and unbuckled himself. The wheel spun and shook him off, throwing him into the shotgun space below. “Shit.” “You alright?” Scott poked his head in. “All things considering?” Stiles replied. “Yeah, I'm doing pretty well.” “Not exactly a speedy getaway, huh?” Scott helped his friend up, and the two returned to the back of the truck. Stiles noticed a few streams of blood racing down from Allison’s hairline, and Madison’s fingernails were bloodied. “You guys alright?” he asked. “If you don't count the vicious monster that just flipped a truck,” Madison replied, “Yeah, we're great. One of the light bulbs shattered on my arm, when I landed right on top of it, and a fucking vase slammed into her.”

     The thing howled, the sound piercing the air and echoing inside the truck. “What the hell is this thing?” asked Allison. “I don’t know,” said Stiles, “But it’s not mindless like the walkers, or even the alligators. This thing is smart, it thinks.” “Then I guess I know what it is.” Cordelia interrupted. “We’re being attacked by a fucking werewolf.”

            _A werewolf? Is she serious? Wait._

     “What?” Scott almost laughed. “That's cra-” “Come on,” Madison interrupted, “Is it really that hard to believe? We’re witches; we do shit with our minds. Is it really that hard to believe a half-man half-wolf monster?” “But you’re all human.” Scott replied. “I mean, fully human. You don’t turn into a crazy monster every time there’s a full moon. Wait, is that actually a rule?” “Full moons endow their kind with tremendous strength and vigor.” Myrtle replied. “However, one does not require a full moon in order to transform.” “Sounds like someone’s a believer.” Madison teased. “Maybe.” said Scott. “Like you said, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve seen all day. But, where did it come from? Has it been hunting us?”

     The creature howled again, and it slammed against the doors. They shook, the whole truck shook, but the lock held up.

     “It's Derek.” Cordelia snapped. “It has to be him.” “What?” Again, Scott was almost laughing at her assertion. “Cordelia, _that's_ crazy.” “Is it? Where was he? He wasn't in the jeep when we lifted it.” “He could've fallen out.” “Lydia went through the windshield and was still stuck in the jeep. And how did they crash? Looking back at it now, do you really think that an _accident_ caused Lydia to lose control of Stiles’ jeep and go over the side of the bridge?” “I’m not going to pretend I know what happened, but-” Stiles zoned out. He felt like he should’ve made the connection, but there was no way he would’ve suspected him of being a monster. But he knew he was guilty of choosing to look the other way.

     “Stiles?” Cordelia interrupted. “What’re you thinking?” “What do you mean?” “There’s something going on in your mind. Tell me.” Sometimes it annoyed Stiles that he could be so transparent. He wanted some element of privacy after all. Then again, Cordelia was far from the average human. For all he knew, she could also read minds. Maybe she already did, and was giving him the chance to fess up. _But I didn’t really do anything wrong. I was a stupid teenager, that’s what most of us are._ “Stiles?” Cordelia repeated. “It has to be him,” he replied, “Doesn't it? Yesterday, he was bitten.” “By a walker?” asked Madison. “Well it sure wasn’t me. But, there was this black sludge that came out of him, like it did with you. The bite healed by the time we got to the airport.”

     Glass shattered, and Cordelia slammed the door separating the driver’s area from the cargo area.

     “Why didn't you tell us?” asked Allison. “You didn’t even have to think ‘werewolf,’ but he healed his bite.” “He told me not to!” Stiles shouted. “And we had bigger issues to deal with. It wasn't an attack, so I let it go. Sort of.” “Why are we still here?” Misty interrupted. “We’re talking our mouths off while that thing claws its way in here.” “Trust me,” Cordelia replied, “We’re safer in here than out there. Out there, it has every advantage over us. Now, Stiles, what else was there?”

     He felt the tears pooling in his eyes. “After we saved Misty,” he began, “Lydia and I found the people Derek killed. He impaled them on a rebar club.” “Rebar club?” Allison quoted. “It would make sense if you saw it. But, there was that, and there were all these claw marks around them. They were even on the trucks, these really freaky slash marks that, honestly, I could not think of an explanation for.” “And you said nothing about this why?” asked Madison. “Because,” Stiles replied, “Again, I thought we had bigger fish to fry. And maybe I didn’t want to imagine another predator following us around the city. I thought if something did show up, we could handle it. And no, I didn’t want to make the connection, it didn’t make any sense.” “Sounds like you really wanted to just close your eyes and run.” teased Madison.

     “Enough.” Cordelia demanded. “Stiles, is that all?” “Yeah, that’s everything. It has to be Derek.” “So do you think this was all part of his hunt?” asked Misty. “Was he just waiting for the full moon to attack?” “That's what I'd have to assume.” Cordelia replied. “Then he was probably lying about his friends being kidnapped.” said Scott.

     “But wait.” said Allison. “He said he got a kidnapping note too, right?” “Right.” Stiles replied. “So?” “So, it was a fake, but, it would still mean that he knew about the witch hunters. Do you think they were using him to-” “They would never work with a werewolf.” Cordelia interrupted. “They would’ve taken a particular interest in killing him.”

     A twisted piece of metal tore through the side of the truck, sliding in and stopping inches shy of Allison’s face. “Are we still safer in here?” asked Misty. “Not at all.” Cordelia replied. “Scott, your truck is still fine, right?” “Yeah, but we were driving away from it.” “We can handle it. I, I can handle it. Everyone get behind me, and grab a weapon.” They did as she said. Weapons in hand, they crouched behind the supreme. Their attention was divided between the flimsy door at their backs, the strong door ahead of them, and the jagged _piece_ of a car door that Derek had tried to kill them with.

     They waited. For what, they did not know. Cordelia had a plan though. It felt good to be the one calling the shots. The Supremacy was partially a burden, no one could deny that.

     There was a band at the strong doors.

     _Then again, no one could deny the perks of the situation either._

     She threw out her arms, and the doors ripped away from the truck. As they tumbled out onto the bridge, she could see that she had hit the werewolf, that she had hit Derek, as well. He tumbled away into the shadows cast by the full moon. Despite the raging storm which grew worse and worse by the second, the clouds had parted for the moon. She could see the truck, turned onto its side and with the headlights smashed. She could also see that it happened to form a nice barricade when paired with two adjacent wrecks. It was their best chance. “Run!”

     The group jumped out of the truck and ran into the downpour and the wind. None of them had ever been caught outside in a hurricane, and the experience was one that they had all hoped to avoid. It was terrifying, a time when nature showcases a sample of her raw destructive power. There was the rain, which pelted them and blurred their vision. At their feet it splashed and threatened to slip them up, literally and figuratively. Then there was the wind, howling in their ears in harmony to the creature hunting them; to the _person_ hunting them. And there were the waves crashing onto the bridge, the threat of a larger one cresting over them and ruining any chance they may claim to have at surviving.

     “What the hell?” Scott shouted. “He flipped it too?” “Just go,” Cordelia shouted, “I can turn it back over the first chance we get!”

 

     “You sure you’ll get that chance?”

 

     There are those rare occasions where you can hear a voice, and have it send chills down your spine, have it freeze your blood, have it conjure up a confusing mess of emotions. She turned, looking over her right shoulder, and there _she_ was, on the hood of an indiscernible car. She stopped dead in her tracks, slipping and taking everyone else down with her.

     “Not too graceful,” said Marie, “Are you? Don’t worry though.” She snapped her fingers, and Derek emerged from the shadows. There was no way he could’ve heard the snap. “You.” She was not shouting to express her emotions, but only to speak over the storm. “You’re controlling him. You’ve been controlling him. You set it all up.”

     “You hit the nail right on the head.” Marie replied. “Though, I must congratulate your costars. Couldn’t have done it without them.” She pulled a gun on them and started firing. They scrambled up and covered the remainder of the distance to the truck, all the while returning fire. Ducking behind the makeshift barricade, it occurred to them that they were in the path of the storm. The waves and the rain pooled behind the vehicles, drenching and chilling them. It was probably more likely that the elements would kill them.

     “Aw, what’s wrong?” Marie shouted. “You saying you’d rather drown than face me?” “Who is she?” Stiles asked. “Marie LaVeau.” Cordelia replied. “The voodoo queen.” “I’m not even going to bother questioning it.” said Scott. “Why're you doing this?” Cordelia shouted. “Why did you kill my girls?” “You brought this on yourselves! You couldn't have just let the end of the world be the end of your kind; you had to cling to life like a goddamn roach. Thing is, this city is always full of surprises. I didn't think there were any more of the wolves left, but I found this one. And, he's quite the catch. Wouldn't you agree Stiles?”

     All eyes rested on Stiles. All of their wet, drenched eyes were resting on him. “Stiles?” Madison asked. “What does she mean?” “Relax.” he quickly replied. “I'm not working with her or anything like that.” He hesitated. “But, Derek and I might have done some stuff in the greenhouse.” “Stuff?” asked Misty. “What kind of stuff?” “Come on, don’t make me say it. We fooled around, in the greenhouse. We broke some stuff.” “It's a great spot,” said Madison, Isn't it? The humidity, the stench of nature, the risk of getting caught by your teacher. I think I've fucked a guy back there, three times.” “We will talk about that later Madison.” Cordelia interrupted.

     “Marie!” she shouted. “We're getting out of this city, out of this storm. Just let us go, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

     Marie laughed. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed. “After coming this far? And, you think that you’re the one who can give the mercy option. _Hell_ no. I'll send your mutilated bodies to the bottom of the lake, like I did with that bitch Lydia.” Stiles felt his blood boil. He grabbed Scott’s pistol and climbed onto the truck. “You don't get to talk about her!” He shot without aim, but he saw her flinch and grip her chest. “I got her!” he shouted. “Guys I got her!” He felt four hands grab him and pull him back behind the barricade. “Stiles,” Cordelia snapped, “What the fuck was that?” “She was insulting Lydia, and I got her.” Stiles, she’s-” “Tell me,” Marie interrupted, “Are you really that great of a shot, or did you just get lucky?” Peaking around the truck, Stiles could see blood pouring down her chest, diluted by the rain. “I’ll answer. It doesn’t matter. I, am immortal.”

     “Marie,” Cordelia shouted, “This kind of fighting has spilled enough blood! There aren’t enough people alive for us to keep killing each other. Please, stop doing this. Just take Derek and go, you’ll never see us again.” “You see dear, the thing is, I’ve already poured my sweat, blood, and tears into this whole ordeal. I’ve been shot twice now, so there’s also that outstanding offense. I’ve been waiting for this moon, waiting for this moment to come. I’m going to personally doom your kind, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

     Cordelia climbed onto the truck now. In a sudden burst of rage she pushed her car over the side of the bridge. Unfortunately, she was already gone.

     “Come on,” they could not determine where she was speaking from, “It couldn’t be over that easy. Where would the fun be in that?”

     “Shit.” said Cordelia. “Marie, get out here! Stop hiding in the shadows; stop hiding behind your pet!”

     “I feel no shame in using this, pet, to do my dirty work. So on that note: Derek!”

     They could hear him splashing through the puddles, but his location remained a mystery.

     “Derek, my werewolf, my pet, my attack dog, sick ‘em.”


	30. The Wolf

     Cordelia heard Derek charging at them; he was coming head on with respect to Scott's truck. "Madison, Misty," she shouted, "With me!" The three witches launched the truck forward with astonishing speed. They could hear it hit something beside the other cars, and Derek roared. Tumbling over the side of the bridge, Derek scrambled over the truck and leapt back amongst the cars.

     "Not to state the obvious," Stiles shouted. "But we're pretty exposed out here! Where are we going to go?" "We have to try to make it across the bridge!" Cordelia replied. "If Marie and Derek don't kill us, this storm will." "So we walk?" asked Madison. "Tell me exactly how _that_ is any better than waiting here to die?"

     Madison started to say something else, but a single gunshot cut her off. It rang out from her right, so there was no one else in the way. They were exposed, and they were not yet in control of the situation. They had been caught off guard again, their attention directed too much at each other. The fault was not with any individual, but it was equally shared amongst all of them. They were not behaving appropriately. Here there are two deadly enemies hiding in the shadows, and to spend any more than a few seconds in the open was asking for trouble.

     The gunshot rang out and cut Madison off. For her, for any of them, there was no time to react. The bullet struck her right temple, the blood being watered down and hidden by the rain and the wind. She happened to blink just as the bullet hit her, so her eyes were closed as her body fell to the ground, limp and safe from rising again as one of the walkers. In the storm, it was incredible that anyone could land such a precise shot.

     Her body splashed into a deeper puddle, and the blood began to pool as a darker splotch in the water. As the other bullets began to fly their way, everyone ducked down. "Madison!" Cordelia shouted. "If you asked me to do that again," Marie called out, "I don't think I could, not even for the life of me. Hell of a shot, put the bitch down in one go." She was shouting through a megaphone. _How the hell did she get a megaphone?_ Stiles felt guilty for thinking about something so trivial. "You bitch!" Without looking behind her, Cordelia used her telekinesis to send the wrecked cars flying. She could hear Marie's feet splashing, frantically darting around the flying metal death traps coming her way.

     Stiles noticed another set of frantic splashes, coming from behind him. He turned to see Derek within grabbing distance, his mouth opened wide to reveal his fangs and his eyes glowing with inhuman rage. He braced himself for the pain, but instead, Derek was sent flying backwards. Stiles turned back around to see Misty's hand stretch out, her chest rising and falling from her heavy breathing.

     "Thanks." he said. "If we get out of this, I'll owe you one." "Just repaying the favor." Misty replied. The two turned their attention to Madison. "Cordelia," Misty said, "Do we-" "We have to go!" Cordelia jumped up and began sprinting down the bridge. "Wait!" Stiles shouted as he and the others followed suit. "Cordelia, be careful!" "She killed her!" Cordelia replied as they ran. "She killed Madison Stiles! I'm going to smear the road with that bitch!"

     "Watch out!" Allison alerted them to the shadow racing along beside them, ducking in and out of the shadows of the cars. "He's following you guys!" "Let him!" Scott shouted. "If we can kill him now, it should be easier to kill Marie, right?"

     Derek leapt out of the cars, sending himself towards Stiles again. Cordelia quickly countered by mentally flicking him away, and over the side of the bridge closest to them.

     "Nice one!" Stiles shouted. "Don't thank me yet," she replied, "I'm almost certain he didn't go under!" "How do you figure?" "He caught himself on the ledge when I threw him! It could've slowed him down enough to give him a chance at getting back up here."

     Stiles turned to see that Cordelia was correct. He could see claws scrambling over the ledge, rain bouncing off of the hairy knuckles. He was tempted to shoot, but something told him not to. Perhaps, they would need the ammo when things escalated to a close range brawl.

     That didn't stop the others from attacking. Scott and Allison tried landing precise shots, to destroy his hands and let him fall to his death, but even a spray and pray tactic would be ineffective. The storm was intensifying, they were running through a vicious downpour, and a hand is a very small target to shoot in the dark. Leaping back over on the bridge however, one of the bullets clearly clipped his right shoulder, and he tumbled over the hood of a burned out jeep.

     "Nice one!" Stiles shouted. "Figure who did that, and you get my respect!" "I'll take the cash prize if that's acceptable!" Allison replied. "And where the hell are we running exactly?" "There!" Cordelia pointed them towards a school bus that had been converted into a shelter, of sorts. Clearly abandoned long ago, it was the only securable location she could find. It was only a matter of time before they tired out, or before either Marie or Derek got the jump on them again.

     The image of Madison being shot down flashed again and again in her head. She wanted revenge. Bloody, satisfying, revenge.

     It was drier inside the bus, and more shielded from the wind. "Do you think you pinned Marie?" asked Scott. "Maybe she can't get to us?" "I wouldn't jump to that conclusion," Cordelia replied, "But, maybe, I don't know." "Just take a breath Cordelia," said Stiles, "We need you to keep a level head for this." "Don't." she snapped. "Stiles, there is nothing else on my mind other than how I can kill that bitch."

     "Then we should start with Derek then." said Allison. "He killed Lydia; he won't get away with that." "Well we need a plan then." said Misty. "How are we going to kill these people? Er, monsters?" "Derek's agile but he's not immortal." said Cordelia. "Once we get a lock on him, bullets and some magic can take him down." "Yeah on that subject," said Allison, "How do we kill someone who's immortal? I feel like we need to be in a movie or something to do that."

     "Hey guys," Stiles shouted, "I just saw Derek." Everyone rushed to the busted windows. "Where?" Scott asked. "Over there," Stiles pointed, "Um, pretty far away actually. Kind of." "We need something more than that." said Cordelia. "Which pile of scrap should I throw if I want a chance at hitting him?" "Well, when you put it that way, that one." Stiles pointed to a cluster of cars, their only distinguishing feature being that one of them still bore a vibrant red stripe of color.

     "Misty, I'll need your help with this one." Together, the two witches sent the cars flying. Scurrying out like a cockroach was Derek, who leapt over the side of the bridge. "He's scared." Cordelia laughed. "He knows that he's going to die!" "While I must confess that I admire this ravenous side of you," Myrtle interrupted, "I must ask you something. Do my eyes deceive me or, do I see a crowd off in the distance?"

     Cordelia didn't know what to think of that. "Where?" she asked. "Much further down the bridge," Myrtle replied, "From where we started." "Stiles," Cordelia began, "Tell me we have some binoculars." "We do." "Good, give them to me and keep an eye out for Derek."

     The rain obscured the lenses, but Cordelia didn't need absolute clarity. A massive herd of walkers was slowly shuffling their way. They moved without an ounce of grace in the storm, and with the most decomposed individuals the rain and the wind was actually stripping the flesh from their bodies. Still, their march forward was constant, and undeniable.

     "You were right Myrtle." said Cordelia. "There's a herd on the bridge. They're coming." "Great," said Stiles, "Walkers, a voodoo queen, and a werewolf. Oh, and the fucking hurricane." "We'll be gone before they can arrive," said Cordelia, "And as the storm gets worse, chances are they'll be swept away." "So the water will be contaminated." Allison commented. "One problem at a time." Cordelia replied. "Unfortunately, we seem to have four."

     Misty was nervously scanning their surroundings. Death had never seemed to be so close, so terrifying, so menacing. Even when she was the hunters' prisoner, death did not feel so alive and malignant. The men were despicable, and their deaths couldn't come fast enough, but they weren't mindless. Now, on the bridge, it was all mindless horrors. The walkers would consume them and forget about the whole ordeal once only the bones remain. The storm was not conscious at all, and could not ever give their murder a second thought. This voodoo queen lady was a sadist, nothing more. And then Derek? She had barely known him at all, but she didn't think it would come to this. Then again, why would there be any reason to assume he was a monster?

     She was certain of something, however. She never belonged anywhere before she met Stiles and the others. And after finding others of her kind, after being rescued by them, she knew that there was a place for her in this world. She didn't want to lose anyone else. Every death was like a candle being blown out, the darkness slowly engulfing her and threatening everyone everywhere with extinction.

     Maybe she was being a little too dramatic. Maybe it was the stress if the last few days catching up to her. Maybe it had a little more buildup than that.

     Maybe, that didn't matter. Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe all that mattered was surviving this bridge. She didn't want to die here. She didn't want to be another lost memory. She did _not_ want to be lost to this rotten world. She couldn't let that happen. She wanted to be there to rebuild everything, to replant everything, to resurrect the vibrant world that she always knew was out there. She could only catch glimpses of it from within her domestic prison, but what little she could see was beautiful.

     A gunshot tore her away from her thoughts. Thankfully it wasn't directed at her. Rather, Scott and Allison were aiming for Derek, who was scurrying around in the rain. "Don't let him get too close!" Cordelia shouted. "I need to take a break. If I pass out, none of us are getting out of here alive." "It's like he's coked up or something," said Scott, "He won't stay even remotely still for half a second." "Marie's keeping his impulses in check," said Cordelia, "And she's definitely a better tactician."

     "Cordelia, we aren't making any progress." said Myrtle. "Numerically and magically we have the upper hand, but we cannot make any progress without sticking our necks out." "No arguments there," Cordelia replied, "But we need to make sure that when our necks are out, we don't get bitten by one of the others."

     "Little problem!" Misty interrupted. "He's gone. Again." "Where did he go this time?" asked Stiles. "I don't know, there was a lightning flash, and the clouds keep blocking the light from the full moon." "Well I don't think we can keep this up much longer anyways." said Scott. "We've actually burned through more than a few rounds." "She's trying to wear us down," said Myrtle, "Wait for us to be left with nothing but empty chambers. Then, she will send that mutt of hers into the bus."

     "Stiles!" Scott shouted. "What're you doing?" He grabbed Stiles' sleeve and tugged, but the fabric tore and the spry teenager slipped out of the bus and into the storm. "What the hell is he doing?" Allison shouted. "Stiles, get out of the way, we don't need another one of us getting shot!"

     "Derek!" Stiles shouted. "Derek, and, and Marie, what's the matter, huh? You scared or something?" "Stiles!" Cordelia shouted. "This isn't a game you want to be playing!" "Derek!" he shouted again. "Fucking get out here and face me!" He heard Derek roar, but he couldn't plot it. "Was it all a game then? Everything? Were you just fucking around with me because, what, it was amusing? Or Marie, was it fun for you to watch it happen?"

     "Fun enough!" Again, he couldn't tell where she the sound was coming from. However, she did still seem to be using her megaphone.

     "Everyone," Cordelia whispered, "Keep an eye out for Marie and Derek." "Kudos to Mr. Stiles." said Myrtle. "He has the courage to put his neck out for the undead, the monsters, and Marie."

     Stiles started searching harder for Marie and Derek. Now he wanted to see them, face to face. He wanted them to give him answers.

     "So it _was_ just a game?" "Like the Sims," Stiles could tell that she had come closer, "But without the glorious satisfaction of complete control."

     Cordelia noticed movement, a few hundred feet down the bridge. It could've just been the effects of the storm, but for the sake of things, she assumed otherwise.

     Derek roared again, and Stiles could distinguish the splash of his footfalls from the soundtrack of the storm. His heart started to race. He had his sidearm in hand, but this was supposed to be some kind of apex predator. In a sense.

     "Well I don't see how you can call yourself a queen. I mean, shit, you've barely shown your face tonight, you've been using someone to do your dirty work, and you get off to toying with my emotions apparently. Actually, that does sound like what a fucked up queen would do. But, fuck you!"

     "It's almost a shame I'll have to kill you. You have such a way with words Stiles."

     "I definitely saw something moving," said Scott, "In the new pile maybe, I don't know, fifty feet ahead of Stiles." "Then it must be Derek." said Cordelia. "There's no way Marie could've gotten that close without crossing into the open." "Unless she skirted along the side of the bridge." Allison suggested. "It doesn't sound like she's shouting too loudly anymore." "Fair enough. Everyone, keep a steady aim."

     "But you won't. You took a pot shot at Madison you cunt!"

     "There's no need for _that_ kind of vulgarity, _faggot_."

     "Wow, low hit Ms. Voodoo Queen. I didn't think you'd be so, backwards. I mean, I'm pretty sure you have an agenda supporting genocide, but, really?"

     "I'm not backwards at all child, but if you're going to drag this down into the gutter I might as well roll around in the filth."

     "Well I can't argue with-"

     With another fearsome roar Derek leapt out of the cars, landing an arm's length away from Stiles. Stiles stumbled back, but Derek's arm shot out and caught him. His claws sunk into Stiles' shoulder, digging deep down and gripping him like a meat hook being thrust into a slab of meat.

     "Please tell me one of you has a shot." said Cordelia. "We need to take him out now." "We can't," Allison replied, "Not without shooting Stiles. One of them needs to move and Stiles needs to pray that we don't miss."

     "Derek," Stiles clenched his teeth, "Let go of me." _Is there even a point in trying? Fuck it, I have nothing to lose._ "Derek, you're seriously telling me that _she_ has complete control over you?" He didn't flinch. His fur was drenched and covering his eyes, but the glowing irises could not be so easily concealed. His mouth was parted, his fangs fully exposed, and his nose was twitching. "Derek, I don't know if I've seen any part of you that isn't a fraud. But if I have, if I've caught even a glimpse of the real you, I know that you'd never let someone manipulate you like this." It wasn't working. _Actually, I'm not dead yet. That must count for something, right?_

    

     _Hesitation? I don't think so. Do your job and kill that scrawny fool._

 

     Stiles started to say something else, but Derek clearly was finished listening. The grip he had in Stiles' shoulder tightened, and he roared in Stiles' face. _Smells like, wet dog. Wait, that's just him._ "Sorry about this Derek, and don't make me regret saying sorry." In a swift motion Stiles drew his sidearm and fired eight shots. Six of them planted themselves in Derek's chest, and the final two he managed to land just above his kneecaps. Derek roared, and Stiles heard Marie begin to shout some expletives. Derek threw Stiles into one of the cars Cordelia and Misty had overturned, and the werewolf dropped to the ground.

     "Holy shit!" Scott and Misty rushed out of the bus to retrieve Stiles. "Well I'll be damned." said Myrtle. "He did it. That boy is a gift to this world." "Now Marie has to face us." said Cordelia. "The bitch has to show her face now."


	31. Myrtle

     “Gentle!” Stiles shouted. “Shit, why don't you just rip my shoulder right off? And how the hell are you saving me with those _gashes_ , Misty Day, teen witch?” “You’re just a little frustrated because it feels like you’re dying.” Misty replied. “When we get inside I’ll shake my boot out onto your cuts and you’ll feel a lot better.” “That sounds disgusting,” said Stiles, “But I know that you’re making sense.” “Just stay inside until this is over Stiles,” said Scott, “I’m pretty sure she’ll be out of mud when she’s done with you.” “I’m surprised I haven’t run out of the shit already.” “Wait, is there actually shit in it?” asked Stiles. Misty laughed and rolled her eyes; an absolute _yes_ , if ever there were one.

     Misty and Scott brought Stiles back to the bus without incident. Cordelia had been keeping an eye on them the entire way back, and aside from the advancing horde of undead, nothing was following them. Derek had also remained on the ground, a dark puddle of blood pooling around him. She did not believe he was dead, but she knew he was no longer a threat to them. In truth, they could run. They wouldn't, but they could. Marie had to pay for her sins, blood for blood. Cordelia felt a burning desire that had never touched her senses before, except for the more intense moments of verbal abuse hurled from her mother's mouth.

     There was a buzz around Stiles as they cleared a space for him, and as Misty began to treat his wounds. Looking at him wincing in pain, a very grim thought came to mind. Derek had not bitten Stiles, but he had stabbed him. She wasn't sure if this meant Stiles would become a werewolf. Documented victims always had scratches and bites, so there was never a strong enough correlation to be certain.

     “Is he dead?” Allison tore Cordelia away from her thoughts. “I doubt it.” she quickly replied. “But we don't have to worry about him anymore.” She felt a soft pain in her forehead, and her vision blurred. Her hands slipped off the edges of the window, and she stumbled back. “Cordelia,” Myrtle caught her, “Stay with me darling, alright?” “I'm fine Myrtle.” “Like hell you are.” Stiles interjected through clenched teeth. Misty was rubbing the mud into his wounds. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”

   “Just a strain from all the magic.” The sensation passed, but fatigue was beginning to set in. She glanced at Misty, and she could see it in her eyes as well. The fight had to end, now. “But, that shouldn't be too much of a problem anymore.” Marie had to die. “It's just the voodoo queen now, right?” asked Misty. “And that horde shambling towards us.” Scott added. “Right.” Cordelia replied. “She can’t stay in one place with them getting so close, but they’re biased to attack us. However we decide to attack her, it has to be fast and it has to be precise.” There was a wet thud against the bus. Glancing outside, Cordelia saw a walker, flesh stripped away from its chest and arms, impaled on the outside of the bus. A gust of wind turned its head around, and it snarled at her. She stumbled back into the bus, and once again Myrtle caught her.

     “Hey,” said Allison, “The walkers are no big deal, right? At least they can't shoot us and use magic.” “They won’t have to.” Myrtle replied. “If the storm gets much worse they’ll be thrown around like pebbles. Anywhere we attempt to flee will be bombarded by their bodies.” “Then how do we take her down?” asked Stiles. “It would be very nice if we don’t have to die like this.” “No arguments there.” said Scott.

     “We'll have to move up.” said Cordelia. “The bus is fortified but it works both ways. If we stay here much longer we’ll be trapped by, everything really.” “So much for not letting it wash away.” said Stiles. “But, won’t we be heading into the storm?” “Yes, but like I said, we do this fast, we do this right, and then we’re out of there. We can’t wait here anymore, grab everything we can and move.” “Does it feel any better?” Misty asked Stiles. “A lot better actually.” he replied. “And, if you can do it without complaining, so can I.”

     With every gun that still had ammo in it in hand, the group stormed out of the bus. Overhead there were piece of gore, sometimes full limbs, flying around in the stormy winds. Further ahead they could see the herd, and full bodies being lifted away and stripped down. “Head for the truck,” Cordelia ordered, “The one that’s turned over onto the SUV.” A gunshot rang out, striking the ground near Cordelia’s feet. “Marie!” she called out. “Show yourself you bitch! Your little pet won't be much help to you anymore!”

     The truck provided a crowded shelter from the storm. It was a small right triangle of space between the door of the SUV and the overturned truck. At one end Cordelia and Misty were on guard, and at the other end Misty and Allison. In the middle, Stiles and Myrtle were crammed in back to back. “Marie!” Cordelia shouted again. “Where the fuck are you?” “Do you really expect me to tell you?” she shouted back. “Now you brought this all on yourselves, you know that? You sons of bitches should’ve known better than to fuck with me.” “You’re the one who’s been attacking us!” Scott shouted. “Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” “Not my fault you teamed up with the wrong side.” Marie replied. “And you stayed to fight, that took some kind of stupidity.”

     Another gunshot, this time hitting the ground in front of Scott, kicking up small chunks of concrete in his face. “You’ll have to do better than that!” Cordelia shouted. “Return fire!” As Cordelia and Scott fired blindly into the storm, Stiles began squirming out of their shelter. “What’re you doing?” Myrtle asked. “Saving our ammo.” he replied. “Misty, you in?” “Absolutely.”

     Unaware of why they had more space to move, Cordelia and Scott ceased fire to inch back into their shelter. “Y'all still got a fire burning,” Marie shouted, “Don't you? I could respect that, _if_ you were respectable.” “Your one-liners are as pathetic as this plan Marie,” Cordelia replied, “You have to know you’ve lost! We have more ammo, more guns, and more _magic_ than you. Face your death!” “But Cordelia,” Scott whispered, “I don’t think any of that is true. Except for the magic part, but-”

     A head, and most of its spine, flopped onto the ground outside their small shelter. It wiggled to Cordelia and sunk its teeth into her hand, spinning and flailing like a shark in the water. Cordelia screamed, and as she tried to shake it off Scott pistol whipped the dismembered corpse back outside, sliding away into the darkness. “Cordelia!” Allison shouted. “You got bitten?” “I'll be fine,” she replied, “Remember? Though, this hand may be out of commission for a little while.” “What the hell happened?” Allison continued. “It got torn away from its body by the wind.” Myrtle answered. “They're almost here.” “I think we're starting to flood too.” Allison realized that they were now in a shallow puddle, but one that was rapidly rising.

     They were thirty feet or so from Marie, and she was none the wiser. They didn’t have a clear shot yet, but as far as either of them was concerned, she was already dead. “Alright,” Stiles whispered, “We know we've hit her a few times now. Immortal or not, I know that she's feeling the pain, and it'll slow her down.” “She's cornered and she knows it.” said Misty. “Just look at her. She knows that if this storm and the walkers don’t finish us, she’s a goner.” “Let's get her before the rest of these guys come tumbling over us in a wave.”

     “That you that screamed Cordelia?” asked Marie. “Their teeth hurt like a mother, don’t they?” “You’ll find out soon enough!” Marie glanced over her shoulder. She saw Stiles through the debris, inching towards her, gun drawn and a look of determination on his face.

     “That’s some smart thinking!” she shouted at Cordelia. “I didn’t think you would try that.” “What’re you talking about?”

     Stiles froze.

     “Your little infiltrators.”

     As Marie turned around a walker landed in front of Stiles. Its arms reached out to grab him, but he caught its wrists and held it back. The flesh on its arms was sliding off, and it head was inching closer and closer to Stiles. Shoving the frail corpse back, Stiles shoved his pistol into the walker’s mouth and pulled the trigger.

     Catching his breath, he noticed a pair of shoes next to him. Looking up, he saw that these were the shoes of Marie, with her whole body still attached to them. He reached for his gun but she kicked his wounded shoulder. Reeling in pain, she grabbed the pistol.

     “Do you find me sadistic?” she asked him. It took Stiles a moment to realize he was being addressed. He looked up and hit his nose against the muzzle of his sidearm. “I'd like to believe that you're aware enough even now to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those other, jokers, but not you.” This was it. Stiles realized that he was going to die out here. He expected his life to flash before his eyes, like in all the shows and movies, but instead he was just frozen in this moment. He closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see it happen.

     _Just let the world end in darkness and noise._

     He heard the gunshot, but it wasn’t his pistol that fired, and it wasn’t he who was shot. First, he saw the chunk of Marie’s head that had been chipped away. Second, he heard her inhuman cries. Finally, turning over and looking up, he saw Misty, with her own sidearm clutched in her hands. She fired again, but the pistol was empty.

     “Stiles,” she helped him off the ground, “You alright?” “I almost died.” he stuttered. “She could've killed me, it would've been over and I would've been gone.” Misty slapped him. “Ouch.” he winced. “Why’d you do that?” “Because you're not gone, you're still here, and we have to keep the pressure on her. And I saw it in a movie once.” “Right.” Marie was still flailing, screaming and cursing them. “Let’s finish her off.”

     “Allow me.” Cordelia and the other had joined Stiles and Misty. “She has it coming from me more than anyone else.”

     “Fuck you bitch!”

     Marie surprised everyone by quickly recovering and shooting Cordelia in the shoulder, darting towards the herd in the momentary confusion. Without being staggered, Cordelia chased after her.

    “Marie!” she shouted. “I’m coming for you!” “That's right,” Marie shouted, “Run right into the horde bitch!” Scott and Stiles grabbed Cordelia and held her back. “Don't think that we're that stupid!” Scott shouted. “Let me go!” Cordelia shouted. “I can take her!” “We know, but not by yourself. You’re hurt-” “So is she!” “Hey!” Stiles shouted. “If I’m not allowed to be stupid anymore, then neither are you!”

     “Let go of me!” They heard Marie shouting, and when they looked ahead at her she was struggling to free herself from something’s grip. Running forward, they could see that it was Misty who was holding her in place. Allison was very confused as to how Misty teleported a hundred feet in front of her. That is, until she remembered that Misty was magical.

     “Cordelia!” Misty shouted. “Shoot her, shoot her!” “Gladly!” Cordelia tried to aim at Marie, but every time she jerked around or tried to squirm out of Misty’s grip she put Misty in the firing line. “I can't without hitting you!” she shouted. “Then shoot through me!” Misty replied. “We need to take her down!” “I'm not going to do that!” “Misty,” Allison shouted, “Wait!”

     A clean shot blew through Marie’s right kneecap, missing Misty’s by nothing more than a few inches at most. The voodoo queen collapsed, and Misty released her. “Nice one!” she shouted “Thanks.” Allison replied. “Cordelia, do the honors, now!”

     Their window had passed. In an instant the winds began to pick up, howling as walkers were lifted into the air one by one, flying at their group. “Run!” Cordelia shouted. “Get back in the cars!”

     The chaos of the corpse storm separated them, sending Scott and Stiles into one car, Allison in another, Misty beneath the same car, and Cordelia and Myrtle in yet another. Through the rage of the storm they heard Marie again.

     “You lose!” she shouted. “You motherfuckers still lose! I hope your deaths are nice and slow, for what you did to me! Fuck all of you!”

     “Do we have any ammo?” asked Misty. “Nothing,” Allison replied, “I guess that was my last round.” “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this, are we?”

     “Hey!” Marie shouted. “I found myself a toy! A big, nice machine gun. I may look like one of these shamblers but I can still gun the lot of you down. So who’s first?”

 A barrage of bullets richoeted around Misty and Allison. They made the mistake of screaming, and Marie continued her ghastly assault.

     “She’s going to kill them,” Scott shouted, “We have to save them!” “Scott, hold it! If we go out there, that bitch will gun us down too.”

     “Cordelia?” Myrtle poked her. “Not now Myrtle.” Cordelia snapped. “Unless you have a plan for getting us out of here, let me think!” “I do. And I wanted to say that I'm so proud of you. I'm proud of everything you've become, and of everything you surely will become.” It felt like a goodbye. No, it was a goodbye. Cordelia felt a chill run down her spine.

     “Myrtle,” her voice was shaking, partly from the temperature, but mostly out of fear of then unknown, “What's your plan?” “One that will surely work for us.” “Myrtle, I don't like this.” “You don't even know what I'm going to do.” “But you're saying goodbye!” She was crying. She didn’t know yet if she believed what Myrtle was implying, but she was terrified that it might be. “Yes, I am. Goodbye Cordelia.” She pulled her in for a hug. In this moment, Myrtle felt so light in her arms. She remembered when she was so much younger, when her mother left her at the school. It was Myrtle, Myrtle was the one who was always there for her, in more ways than she had ever realized. A hug from Auntie Myrtle made all her problems fade away. “My sweet, sweet Cordelia.” She vanished, teleported away from her, and her hug collapsed.

     “Myrtle!”

     Myrtle had been observing Marie for perhaps a minute, predicting her movements and waiting for the moment to strike. Some of the walkers had touched down around her, but they were not attacking her, though that was no surprise. However, if one of them were with her, their simple minds could be tricked into attacking the both of them. Allison was pregnant, Scott the father, and Stiles their dear friend, and none of them were magic, so they were disqualified immediately. Cordelia and Misty were still young, with much to offer the world. She was the weakest link. That was not thought up of in cynicism or masochism, it was a simple truth.

     She was proud of herself; she appeared right in front of Marie, in between machine gun fire. “Hello Marie.” She grabbed the voodoo queen and quickly teleported away again, this time further back, into the herd itself. They appeared in the middle of the herd, and all eyes were suddenly on them. “No!” Marie squirmed and fidgeted in Myrtle’s grasp, but she had taken too much damage. Her best was not enough to break free of an elderly witch’s grip. “That won't be enough this time, you bitch.”

     “Myrtle,” she could hear Cordelia shouting her name, “Please, no!”

     The walkers covered them in seconds, their teeth tearing through their skin and going down to the bone. It was a pain beyond words, to be eaten alive, but it didn’t matter. At the very least, it would be over soon. Myrtle took some pleasure in knowing that Marie would not know death until the last strip of flesh was torn from her bones, the sensation of pain following her until she vanished from the mortal world. Already darkness was consuming Myrtle’s vision, an unbearable cold accompanying the burning pain of the bites. The last thing she saw was a toothy corpse tearing out Marie’s throat, her voice drowned out by gurgling and ragged gasps.

     “No,” Scott and Stiles were dragging Cordelia away from the storm, “Don't let them take her! Don't let them take her Stiles, please!” He wished she hadn’t said that. Why him? “Cordelia,” Stiles insisted, “We have to go, please. She did it, she saved us!” “But she’s dying Stiles!”

     Marie tried to call for her pet, for Derek, but her neck was all but gone, her head hanging on to her body through some thin ribbons of flesh and her spine. Blinding fury nearly eclipsed the pain she was feeling, but the pain fought harder and it was agonizing. She knew she wouldn’t be dead unless they picked her clean, but if they didn’t she would have to wait a year before her agreement expired, before death would tear her away from this world. To think it could’ve ended this way. She hated herself for being so weak, for letting the witches win. There was nothing to comfort her, no solace in this painful hour.

     “How are we going to get out of here?” Misty shouted. “We don’t have a ride anymore.” “Maybe not.” Allison replied. “Look what we came back to.” It was the remains of their convoy; emphasis on “remains.” “The tires are blown out.” said Stiles. “It can still move.” Allison insisted. “Misty, can you flip it?” “I can try. Cordelia, I need your help.” “Myrtle!” “Cordelia!” Misty repeated. “Please, help us get out of here!” Cordelia, still a hysterical mess, glanced at the truck. She lifted her hands, and the vehicle began to rock. Misty joined her efforts, and the truck began to smoothly turn right-side up.

     As it was about to touch down, Cordelia’s attention shifted, and her grip was released; fortunately it slammed right-side up. “Cordelia?” Stiles chased after her as she raced down the bridge. “Cordelia, she is dead!” “I’m not going after her!” she shouted. She was telling the truth, as it was definitely not Myrtle’s mangled body that she began to drag. It was Derek’s.

     “What the hell are you doing?” Stiles shouted. “He tried to kill us!” “I have plans for him!” Cordelia had a wild look in her eyes, one that deeply disturbed Stiles. Without another word exchanged he grabbed a handful of Derek, and the two dragged him towards their truck.

     “Get in!” Misty shouted. “Hurry!” A wave began to crest in the lake, racing towards the bridge and towering like a building over them. As if she had been given the impression these humans were not yet scared, Mother Nature decided that this wave would be an excellent parting gift. “Stiles, run!” Scott shouted. “Leave him; you’re not going to make it!” “She won’t leave without him!” Stiles replied. Suddenly Misty was at his side, and she too grabbed the werewolf. “Then let’s move!” she shouted. They were so close to the truck Stiles was tempted to just sprint to it, leaving Derek behind. If Cordelia and Misty weren’t “attached” to him, he would.

     The wave was nearly upon them, and water was spilling over the bridge, rushing up to their ankles. The only positive was that Derek had started floating, so he was suddenly a lot easier to drag. As the shadow of the wave began to cast over the bridge, the doors to the truck swung open. Allison started up the truck as Scott reached his arms out to pull the others in, as the wave began to crash down, as the winds howled like an animal of their own.


	32. Aftermath

     Soaking wet, Scott and Allison stormed the small clinic. The flooding followed them for a long way down the road, but on this small hill they decided upon shelter. It was very empty, stripped of everything but the shelves on the walls, and there was nothing to suggest anyone had come through here since the day it was looted. There were holes in the roof and the walls, and rain and wind rushed through them. However, a quick sweep revealed a doctor's office sheltered from the storm entirely.

     "It's all clear!" Allison shouted as the two of them went back outside. "Start unloading our gear!"

     The confines of the room were hardly enough for six people and their supplies, so the latter was carefully clumped in the waiting room, sheltered beneath the reception desk. Derek was laid out on the bed, Stiles and Misty shared the counter space, and the other three shared the floor. The switches did nothing, and the bulbs were all gone, so the only light they had to go by was that of their flashlights and battery-powered lanterns. It was dark, the wind was howling outside, and their emotions were still raw.

     Misty started a fire in the center of the room.

     "This place should keep us same until the hurricane moves on." said Cordelia. "Hopefully by tomorrow the weather should be clear enough for us to travel." "Why is he here?" Allison didn't turn to face Cordelia, and her tone exuded a sense of exasperation. "Is what he did to our friends, to your family, not enough?" "You don't have to like the decision I've made, but it was mine to make." "He killed Lydia!" Allison leapt up and shouted. "Why did we not leave him to die?"

     Cordelia got up and stood beside Derek. Grabbing his right bicep, she shoved his arm so that half the forearm was hanging over the edge of the bed. She formed a fist and raised her hand high, and then in a swift moment she brought it crashing down on his arm. _Snap_. His bone broke, and they could see it move beneath his skin. The noise sent chills down their spine, and Allison quickly went from rage to shock. Cordelia repeated the process again with his other arm, and then with his legs.

     "Do you know why I did this?" she asked seconds after snapping his left leg. "Don't, don't bother answering. He didn't just kill Lydia. But he was just a tool for Marie. If it were up to him, he probably wouldn't have acted so violently towards us." "So why did you break all of his limbs?" asked Stiles. "To show all of you that this is nothing personal. When he comes to, healed and rested, he'll join us."

     "What if he isn't that willing?" Misty asked. "Are you going to let him go?" "He won't have a choice, and I won't kill him." "This keeps getting worse." said Scott. "It would be pretty easy to kill him right now. They're not immortal, right?" Cordelia sighed. "Werewolves are not immortal. They're incredibly durable, but even that has limits. But we are not killing him. You can all do yourselves a favor by accepting this before he wakes up."

     “He’s still getting a free pass!” Allison shouted. “Cordelia, what does it matter what he can do for us? He deserves to pay for what he did for her!” “We could call this his payment.” Cordelia snapped. “Shot full of bullets, arms and legs broken, I’d say that’s a good punishment.” “But he still gets to live.” said Allison. “And he won’t even remember his arms and legs being broken.” “It isn’t up for debate Allison.” Cordelia raised her voice. “He’ll come with us wherever we go as long as I say so, understood?”

     “No!” Allison yelled as she started to rummage through one of their bags. “He isn’t going to get away with this!” As the blade of the machete was raised from the bag, Allison’s body froze. Stiles saw the vein in Cordelia’s head pulsate ever so slightly. What was the word for it? Concealment? _No, concilium._

     “You’re going to put that away.” As Cordelia spoke, Allison was forced to obey. The machete went back inside the bag, the bag was zipped up, and Allison sat back down beside Scott. He felt bad about not saying or doing anything, but if he tried something he might’ve suffered a similar punishment; was that an accurate word for what was happening?

     “Now,” Allison flinched as Cordelia released her grip, “Was that what you wanted to do?” There was a pause. “No.” Allison replied. “Then, let’s say that instead I had you use that machete to kill someone in this room. Let’s say I had you kill Misty. Whose fault would it be?” Another pause. “Yours.” she replied. “It would be your fault.”

     “Then can you at least pretend to understand what I’m saying?” Cordelia asked. “The imposition of one’s will onto another dose not hold the victim accountable for their actions, no matter how heinous they may be. I can’t give an accurate evaluation of Derek as a person, but he will not be held accountable for what Marie had him do.”

     Tears began flowing down her cheeks. “I lost the closest thing I had to a family Allison; I understand what you’re feeling. But the difference between the two of us is that I won’t let that cloud my judgement. I feel like shit for surviving and having to watch them all die, but I will make sure I live on to avenge them. And I did. We avenged all of our friends and family when we killed Marie.” Cordelia paused. “When Myrtle killed Marie.”

     Silence fell upon the room, save for the ambience of the hurricane and the (now apparent) shallow breaths of Derek. Cordelia and Allison were sniffling, their eyes red and puffy from the tears.

     “I’m sorry.” said Allison. “But it hurts. I knew them for so long, and they were murdered. And it’s not just Lydia I’m talking about. How could we not know Danny was still out here?” “Don’t do that.” said Scott. “We, we couldn’t have known.” He looked at Misty. “At least you were there for him.” “If I could,” Misty began, “You know I would’ve saved him, right? Allison, there was nothing else I could do.”

     Allison got up and embraced Misty. “I’m not mad at you, there’s no way I could blame you for what happened to him.” She buried her face in Misty’s shoulder, and the tears came pouring forth. “Just please don’t go Misty, I don’t want anyone else to die, alright?” “Shit,” Misty said as her own waterworks began, “You think it’s that easy to get rid of me? I’m not going anywhere Allison, I promise.”

     Stiles shuffled over to Scott. “Hey,” he said, “Mind if I get a hug? I’ve been holding back a tsunami of crying for the last fifteen minutes.” Scott laughed, letting loose a few tears of his own. “Only if I get a shoulder too.”

     Cordelia buried her face in her hands, as everyone else in the room had paired up to cry, save for the currently mutilated Derek, whom she would not be embracing in the foreseeable future.

     “It’s late,” Cordelia sniffled, “We should get some rest.” There was a loud chorus of sniffling before everyone regained their composure. “Someone help me tie Derek up, and we’ll sleep in shifts so we can always keep an eye on him.” “Sounds good to me.” said Allison. “I’ll get some rope, or tear up some shirts.” “I can take the first watch.” Scott offered. “What’ll we do, change every hour or two?” “Let’s go with one.” Cordelia said as she tore a shirt Allison handed her. “It’ll be hard enough to stay awake that long.”

     There were no lights in the room, so when they turned their flashlights off the room was just about pitch black. Despite the rarity of batteries, Stiles decided to leave one on for Scott; the purpose of a night watch was negated if they couldn’t see anything. The howling of the hurricane drifted further and further into the background. Their eyes were heavy and their bodies drained of energy. Between the emotional turmoil and the pure physical demands of the day, it took only a minute or so before everyone was asleep.

     Except for Scott that is, save for a dozen or so periods of “resting my eyes.”


	33. Into the Wild Dead Yonder

     Stiles twitched awake. He couldn’t recall what he was dreaming about, but he knew that he was falling. And, maybe he landed in the ocean? He remembered feeling wet, though he was still damp from the night before. “Shit.” His voice was scratchy, and he hacked out a disgusting wad of phlegm. It landed on Allison’s pant leg, but luckily she didn’t stir. Carefully, he attempted to wipe the spit away, of which he was partially successful. She would likely mistake it for dampness. Everyone else was still asleep, and Cordelia was hunched over next to Derek on the bed. Fumbling for a flashlight, he guided his way out of the hospital.

     The carnage outside was of no surprise to Stiles. There were the uprooted trees skewering old houses like sloppy kebobs, cars and boats scattered all around them like they were toys, and the oddly refreshing air that followed a storm. The skies were still cloudy, but there weren’t harbingers of rain and wind anymore. It did seem funny, in a twisted way, that a post-apocalyptic city could possibly look any worse than it already was.

     Then he saw it.

     “What the hell is this?”

     One thing Stiles noticed about the apocalypse was that, after a while, all the debris and ruin of mankind started to blend together. Everything had a certain, style, that it adhered to, and it became obvious when something was out of place (whatever that could possibly mean). So, the charred wreckage of this, helicopter, definitely made him take a mental step back.

 

     Misty slowly faded back to the world of the conscious. She felt well rested despite having taken two watch shifts. She rolled on the floor, observing her sleeping friends. Scott was curled up next to Allison, who had some smeared spit on her right pant leg, Cordelia was slumped over next to their hog-tied Derek, and Stiles was- “Stiles?” Where was he? “Stiles?” She silenced herself, not wanting to disturb the others just yet. She carefully drew a machete from a gear bag and tip-toed out of the room.

 

     He assumed there was no danger of this mysterious vehicle exploding; the body of the craft was for the most part shattered, and the remainder was charred black. “Whoa, this is actually pretty cool.” He recognized a body, a body which must’ve been thrown from the craft when it crashed. He was lightly burned but still for the most part intact, so Stiles quickly set about founding something to ensure it would stay down. A split blade would do, and Stiles drove the shrapnel through the poor bastard’s skull.

     He then noticed the, device, on the man’s wrist. Partly covered in blue fabric, it looked like something someone pulled from a future era. He thought it was a little on the bulky side, but it was still the smallest wrist-mounted, well, thing, he had ever seen outside of TV shows, video games, or movies. Hesitantly, he tugged on the device, and the whole arm came off with it. It bothered him how unpassed he was. Examining the detached limb, he found clamps on the underside of the device.

 

     “What the hell happened?” Misty’s voice startled him, and he dropped the arm. “I don’t know,” he quickly replied as he turned to face her, “It must’ve happened while we were sleeping.” She glanced at the arm, and then the body. “I don’t think I want to know.” She noticed the device on the discarded arm. “What’s that?” she asked. “I’m not sure.” Stiles released the clamps and removed the device from the arm. He examined its face, a wide black screen surrounded by knobs and buttons. He noticed a shattered bulb, which he assumed was a flashlight. “It says ‘Pip-Boy,’ but I don’t know if that’s a brand or an actual name for it.”

     “If it’s a brand,” said Misty, “I’ve never seen any product like that.” Stiles placed the Pip-Boy on his left wrist, as it seemed to be oriented for that side of the body. Clamping it on, he was surprised at how well it fit his arm. “I think it’s broken.” Stiles said as he tapped the blank screen. “Maybe try the knobs.” Misty suggested. He began fiddling with all the details on the Pip-Boy, each one clicking away without any results. Finally, one of them caused the screen to flash green, followed by lines of green letters and numbers to flow onscreen.

     A cartoonish man appeared on the screen. He was smiling, and there were percentage values attached to each of his limbs, his torso, and his head. “Aw,” said Misty, “This is so cute. But, what is it?” “Damned if I know.” Stiles looked at the numbers. They were all reading as 100%. “Are they vitals?” Misty asked. “I think so.” said Stiles. “I think they’re my vitals.” “Well they’re not his,” Misty pointed at the corpse, “Because that head would definitely be at 0%.” “Come on,” said Stiles, “Let’s show this to the others.”

 

     “Hey guys,” Stiles began as he rounded the corner to their room, “You’ll never guess what we found.” He ran right into Derek, who actually felt like a wall. “Oh,” Misty said from behind Stiles, “You’re awake.” “She untied me.” he said as he gestured to Cordelia. “It’s true Stiles,” said Cordelia, “It’s fine. Also I’m making breakfast.” Derek glanced at Stiles’ wrist. “What’s that?” he asked. “I found it in the crash outside.” Stiles replied.

     “Crash?” asked Allison. “What crash?” She shoved her way past Derek. “And what’s that on your wrist?” “I think it’s called a Pip-Boy.” Stiles raised it to eye level. “It’s some kind of computer that straps onto your wrist. I found it on a dead guy out there.” “Did you clean it?” Allison asked. “It was already clean.” Stiles replied. “Oh my god, Stiles, take that-” “Look, you’re missing the point. There’s this helicopter thing that crashed outside. The thing itself is wasted, but there’s all kinds of shit around the crash site we could salvage.” “Let’s go then.” Cordelia pushed her way past Derek and gestured for everyone to go outside. “You too.” she said to Derek as she glanced over her shoulder.

 

     “Wow.” said Cordelia. “I’ve never seen a helicopter that looked like this thing before.” “It probably isn’t even a helicopter.” said Scott. “But honestly this thing looks more like a scrapyard than an, anything.” “Oh my god,” Misty pointed at the front of the crash, “Look.” A helmet was sticking out of the metal, a faint stain of blood surrounding it. “I guess this was the pilot.” said Derek. “Emphasis on _was_. Poor fucker came through the wall.” “Why would anyone fly this during a hurricane?” asked Allison. “Who knows?” Derek replied. “To answer that, no one ever will. Might as well see what we can take from this thing.”

     Derek took a step towards the crash when he felt, _something_. He turned to see Allison glaring at him, her fingers squeezing her forearms. “What?” he snapped. “Look I get it, you don’t trust me. But I have no reason to want to kill any of you. Marie is dead, we all know that.” “I know,” Allison interrupted, “Cordelia enlightened me, while you were unconscious. But they were your actions that killed her, so forgive me if I’m still a little pissed at you.” Derek took a deep breath, in an out. “Lydia.” he said. “I know, and I’m sorry, it wasn’t my decision.” He saw her expression soften, and her fingers relaxed. “None of it was.” he continued. He then locked eyes with Stiles. “Well, almost none of it.”

     He winked, and Stiles’ face flushed a bright red as everything stared at him. “Alright,” said Allison, “Let’s please not get into that. Scott, help me find a way into this thing.” “Sure thing.”

     Everyone began to fan out, sifting through the rubble to find anything of use or value. Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and punched his back. “Asshole.” he snapped. Derek laughed. “Was that supposed to hurt?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Relax,” Derek continued, “I’m really not as bad as you think.” “I just love how you’re pretending nothing happened.” Derek growled; Stiles did not expect that and nearly toppled back. “Stiles? I know what happened, but there’s no point in dwelling on it. You know why I did what I did, but now she’s dead, so I can make my own choices from now on.” Stiles sighed. “And you’re really this willing to travel with us?”

     Derek scoffed. “Of course not. But, without a pack, my kind don’t usually do too well.” Goosebumps covered Stiles like a blanket. “I hope you’re not saying you’re going to bite all of us.” Derek scoffed, again. “I’m not a monster, or at least half of me isn’t. I’ll offer it, but if you don’t want it, so be it.” His eyes glowed red and he opened his mouth to show Stiles his fangs. “I don’t.” Stiles quickly replied. “I’m good as a plain human.” The fangs retracted, and his eyes returned to a human non-glow. “One down.” Derek smirked. “I’ll ask everyone else later. And listen.” He pulled Stiles in close, and planted a big, lingering kiss on his lips. “Just because I was under her control while I made you squirm doesn’t mean it was any less enjoyable for me. I would’ve done it without her influence.”

     Stiles stuttered trying to find what to say to Derek. Finally, it tumbled out of his mouth. “I have a really confused boner right now.” _Who the hell says that to someone?_ “So, please, no.” Another smirk and he released Stiles. “Whatever you say.” he said. “Now let’s see if your dead buddies had anything else useful on them.”

 

     Derek was already proving to be useful to them. His strength and claws allowed them to pry the wreckage open and strip the wreck down to its metallic skeleton. Whoever these people were, they were packing some serious firepower, enough for them to replace their own weapons cache with newer guns and ammunition. There were six ten millimeter pistols and five machine guns, plus a sniper rifle. Every other weapon they pulled from the crash looked like it could’ve done some serious damage, but they were shattered and charred black. Aside from weaponry, there were some batteries, lighters, and a “Guns and Bullets” magazine. Stiles figured it could teach them a thing or two, or three.

 

     “Wow.” Cordelia admired their pile of loot. “This is quite a haul.” “It’s about sixty pounds of gear.” said Stiles. “According to my handy dandy Pip-Boy.” “Ten pounds of loot a piece then.” said Derek. “Plus all the shit we still wanna keep back inside the hospital. Might get a little heavy.” “And our current ride isn’t really an option anymore.” said Scott. “The storm made sure of that.” “We’ll find something we can fix up and drive.” said Cordelia. “All we need is a repair shop that still has its inventory in stock.” “Any idea where we can start looking?” asked Scott. “No,” Cordelia replied, “I’m not very familiar with this area. And there’s no way we’re going back into the city.”

     Stiles began fiddling with the Pip-Boy, cycling through all the screens and displays. It was reading him as slightly malnourished and dehydrated, though this was no surprise. The inventory page had a list of all their loot, which he had to manually enter. Then, there was a blank screen. By “blank,” Stiles meant that it was covered in green pixels, with a large exclamation point in the middle. He fiddled with the other knobs and buttons, and eventually the screen went black.

     _Uploading satellite imagery_.

     “Oh shit.” he said out loud. “No way.”

     “Porn?” Scott joked as they all crowded around the Pip-Boy.

     “Very funny.” Stiles replied. “Actually, this thing is downloading a map from our satellites.”

“It can do that?” asked Scott. “And, the satellites are still working?” “Apparently yes, to both of those questions. This is a very cool toy.” “Look for a repair shop.” said Cordelia. “If it labels things that is.” “It does, and I will.” Stiles fiddled with the controls for a few seconds, becoming comfortable with the etch a sketch-esque controls. Finally, “Found it,” he announced, “And it isn’t too far from us.” “Relatively speaking.” Misty added. “We’ll still be hauling all this crap with us.”

     “But if everything goes well,” said Cordelia, “We’ll find a truck that can take us as far as Raccoon City, and hopefully much further.” “And it’s not like there’ll be a lot of walkers around.” Stiles added. “I bet that storm cleared most of the city out.” “But where exactly will we be driving again?” asked Derek. “I can’t really recall if we have a plan or not.” “After we stop by Raccoon City,” Cordelia replied, “We’ll find somewhere we can fortify and support ourselves within. Then we’ll find other survivors. Hopefully, one day we’ll build up a colony of respectable size.”

     “So, what,” Derek began, “We’re going to save the world?” “At the very least a few dozen people clinging to hope.” Cordelia replied. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find some other surviving witches. We could save more than one kind of people from extinction.” Derek mulled the idea over. “Alright,” he sighed, “Why not? It’s not like I have any other offers open at the moment. And I don’t really see a need to keep an ancient feud going, especially when I unfortunately owe my life to you.” “Then let’s gather everything up.” said Cordelia. “We move out in ten minutes.”

 

     All in all, it wasn’t that much of a haul per person. Scott and Misty were covering their flanks, and Derek had the rear. Allison and Misty were at the center of the formation, and Cordelia stood beside Stiles at the front. “Is everyone ready to go?” she asked. “Yep.” Scott eagerly replied. “I can’t wait to test this thing out.” “Stiles,” Cordelia continued, “You’ll be our navigator.” “Let’s hope this thing has a long battery life then.” Stiles replied. He dropped a pin on the repair shop, and a zig zagged path appeared onscreen. “Alright.” Stiles pointed his finger out in front of the group.

 

     “This way.”

 

     _This chapter in their lives was finally over. It was a violent one, filled with loss and grief and heartbreak. And yet, there was never enough of a drive to actually leave the city. Perhaps back then it seemed like too daunting of a task to even consider. Or maybe it was a bizarre attachment to what had been their home for so long. Whatever the reason may have been, did it really matter anymore? Their lives were finally going somewhere. And who can say what the future now holds for them? So much had changed in the last few days, and there would certainly be more change to come_

 

     “Wait, wait, no.” Stiles turned around. “I was facing the wrong way. It’s this way.”

 

     _At least they have each other._


End file.
